


Star Catcher

by crOwnlEssG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Children, Family, Fledgling!Cas, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Star Catcher, Time Travel, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 66,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crOwnlEssG/pseuds/crOwnlEssG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time-traveling mishap will make two children and a fledgling realize that the unexpected can sometimes be a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall for a Shooting Star

He was in Heaven, reading a book under twilight skies.

Then a handful of his older brothers snuck up on him, tousled with him, took his book away.

When he fought back, they decided to play a trick on him. One of them took him one hundred and twenty six years into the future, where another brother – part of the same group that snatched his book, but now slightly older – was waiting. He then took them two hundred and seventy-three years into the future, only for the cycle to keep going.

The little angel was getting scared; he wanted to break free but his brothers would not let him go. Soon, he was screaming, but whoever was holding him now merely laughed and said it was just a bit of fun.

His powers were waning from being stretched too far from his original timeline. He did not know when he was anymore; he wondered if it was even remotely possible for him to return.

All of a sudden, he felt himself dipping closer and closer to Earth, caused by his brothers' eventual fatigue.

Suddenly, his older brother's grip slacked and the fledgling helplessly fell to Earth.

And nobody bothered to catch him.

**October, 1988 A.D. (11:17 P.M.)**

Dean was dutifully going around their tiny motel room, making sure that every entrance and even the smallest crack in the wall was blocked by a thick line of salt. Sam had long since fallen asleep in the bedroom, and since their dad said that he would be gone on a week-long hunt, that left Dean the responsible one, _again_.

Nonetheless, he did not mind; he liked getting to do stuff, and it was just a quick round. When he reached the windows, he noticed that the rain was hitting the glass hard. He shuddered at the thought of some poor sap being out there in the middle of the night.

"Brother! _Brother!_ "

Dean nearly rammed his gut into a table upon hearing a distant voice. He peered out the window and after squinting for a while, he managed to pinpoint a small shape in the distance, just barely within motel grounds. It sounded like a little kid, all worked up and he did not seem to be moving and –

No. No, Dean was not going out there where it was almost pitch-dark, freezing-cold and unbelievably wet.

"Please don't leave me here! _Brother!_ " And great, the kid was crying now. Dean sighed; leave it to him to have a soft-spot for kids who needed their brother.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Sam was still asleep before he grabbed a flashlight (and a can of salt and a silver knife just in case) and ventured out.

Dean nearly regretted stepping out in the first place – it was freaking _cold_ outside! But he was here already, so he might as well get on with it. If it was possible, it was even harder to hear anything out here than inside; the rainfall kept mixing with the water gushing out of the large fountain at the front of the motel's entrance. When he passed by the fountain, he shone his flashlight at it and saw that the water had already gone up to about three feet and was seriously overflowing.

Now where was that kid?

" _Brother! Anyone, please!_ I want to go home!"

Dean jogged the last few steps until he was close to the kid's huddled form and shone the flashlight on him.

"Hey, kid! Would you keep it down? People are trying to sleep!" he shouted over the rain. And by 'people,' he meant Sam; the rest of the tenants could stay up until sunrise for all he cared.

The kid quickly whipped around and, in turn, stumbled a little into the mud. His dark hair was a total mess, and if his eyes were not so bloodshot they would have been bright blue. He looked like some of the kids Dean saw (and mocked) who attended Sunday school, although his white shirt was dirty and really torn and his tie seemed hardly able to hold on anymore.

"Y-You can see me?" the kid asked, panicky.

"Duh. Who else is out here to talk to?" retorted Dean.

The kid blinked, then looked around them as if to confirm it. Somehow, his gaze landed on his shirt and his eyes widened as he carefully touched it.

"I'm in a… This isn't right. I'm not allowed to obtain one yet…" The kid's fear upped a few notches for some reason and he was bordering hyperventilation. What was he not allowed? To wear the standard Bible uniform? Whatever was going on, Dean was seriously beginning to get suspicious.

"Alright, kid; just take it easy and we'll – " Lightning-quick, he drew out his knife and dealt a slice on the kid's right hand and threw a handful of salt at his face.

The kid screamed and retreated a few feet, though if it were any monster the result would have been way more chaotic than that; the kid just freaked out like… any normal kid would do when someone sliced them.

"Why are you hurting me?" he half-sobbed, half-screamed. He was really scared now and Dean decided to tuck his hunter-instincts away for a while.

"It's okay, I don't have the knife anymore. Let me help you out." he placated, approaching the kid with his hands held up to show that he was unarmed, aside from the flashlight.

The kid shook his head and struggled to get to his feet. Soon, he stumbled over to the fountain, and when he noticed that Dean was still on his tail, the kid clambered over the edge of the fountain.

"Stay away!" he fearfully yelled.

Dean climbed onto the fountain as well, and all the kid could do was squirm frantically backward.

"Hold still! You're gonna fall in the – !" Dean began, but right on cue, the kid slipped and fell into the fountain.

Holding back a curse, Dean dived in after him.

He was lucky he had a flashlight with him; otherwise, this would be really difficult. After a few seconds, he found the kid thrashing about at the bottom of the fountain, seemingly unable to rise up to the surface. Upon closer inspection, Dean discovered that the kid's collar and tie got caught in one of the cracks on the tiles.

The kid was screaming, which was not good because he was depleting his oxygen supply, and the fact that he was thrashing was not helping either. Dean went up to the surface to grab a good lungful of air for the long work he knew he had to do then went back under.

He understood that the kid was beyond scared right now – he could not blame him – but, damn it, he had to stop all that moving and screaming or he would end up hurting himself.

The kid screamed out something, which was almost certainly the word "Help!" except that it came out in bubbles and water-gibber. Frustrated for both of their sakes, Dean clamped a hand down on the kid's mouth just to stop him from swallowing more water. The kid's eyes widened in terror before scrunching them tightly closed and wriggling as much as he could away from him in an effort to shut him out.

Dean set himself to work, regardless. He tugged at the kid's collar and tie but he soon found out that all that thrashing a while back had jiggled a neighboring tile to close in on the crack and made it narrower and tighter than ever. That meant he had to use his knife, which was risky since the kid was desperately moving around again.

After a quick trip to the surface, Dean tried pinning the kid down so he would not fidget so much. However, the kid must have thought it was another attack and actually doubled his efforts. Dean believed that this was as good as it would go and proceeded to carefully cut the tie first.

The tie was severed after a couple of seconds, but the really hard one was the collar; he needed to cut it very meticulously unless he wanted to accidentally stab the kid's neck. Dean went to the surface again to get some air then hastily returned to the kid…

…who wad totally not moving at all.

He shined the flashlight at the kid's face just in time to see his eyes roll back into his skull and his head lifelessly tip back. Crap, not good, not good.

Dean lunged for the collar and got the kid freed in an instant now that there was not any conflict. Although now, he actually preferred some because at least then he knew that the kid was _alive_. Dean grabbed the kid under his arms and hoisted them to the surface.

"I gotcha, I gotcha. S'okay now." he said, panting. He adjusted his grip when he noted that his burden was limply slipping back into the water. Dean gave the kid a little shake, though he remained completely unresponsive. He held his hand in front of the kid's nose and mouth and learned that he was not breathing.

That was all it took to get Dean rushing out of the fountain and onto solid ground like a missile. While Dean landed on the mud with a little grace, the boy he just rescued landed with a heavy, sickening splat on the mud. He immediately went over to him and turned him over to his back; he set the flashlight on the ground at an angle before mercilessly pressing his fists on the kid's chest. It sickened Dean, especially now that the kid appeared more fragile and vulnerable than ever, but he knew he had to do it.

And now that he could have a better look at him, it dawned that the kid looked around Sam's age, maybe just slightly older… and Dean was practically punching the living crap out of him.

"Come on; breathe. Breathe! Don't make me go mouth-to-mouth on you." Dean huffed, although if he had to, he will. It was his fault that the kid went to the fountain in the first place; there was no way he was letting him die.

Press down. Press down. Press down. Interval, wait a bit. Press down. Press down. Press down. Interval, wait a bit.

After five minutes – or five hours, he did not know anymore – the kid let out a frail sputter, something that would have gone unnoticed if Dean was not paying close attention. He got out of the way in time before a full-blown coughing fit assaulted the poor kid. His entire body shook alarmingly as he expelled water out of his system; it was a painful sight to see but Dean could not help but sigh a relieved "Finally."

Dean looked to his right where his motel room was waiting, which was like a beacon in the darkness since it was the only one with the lights still on. He was both thankful and disgusted that he was the only one still awake at this hour, or perhaps a more apt term was to chose to walk out into the storm and help someone out and _not_ pretend to be asleep or did not hear anything.

Dean expected the kid to have recovered already, or at least trying to get up by now. However, when he turned around, he saw that the kid was still lying on the ground, arms wrapped tight around himself, eyes shut and trembling violently.

Without a second thought, Dean placed the flashlight into his back pocket and carried the boy as tenderly as if he was holding his brother. The change in position triggered another coughing fit and Dean had to wait for it to die down before he risked moving him. He did not know whether the kid's shaking were convulsions or mere shivers, albeit what was important was to get them indoors where it was warm and dry.

The walk felt like it would last forever, but eventually they crossed the threshold and Dean gingerly seated the kid on the couch. Dean was aware that the kid's complexion was pale even with the limited lighting outside, and even paler after they got out of the fountain… he just did not expect him to be _dead_ -pale once there was a lot of light. His breathing was rapid, shallow and irregular and, without the rain, his teeth could be clearly heard chattering with every strained inhale.

Dean ran to the kitchen to heat up some instant noodles. Once that was taken care of, he went to the bathroom to fetch every towel they had. He placed two around the kid's thin shoulders and used the last one to dry up the kid's head.

He stopped mid-wipe when he heard a low moan emit from underneath the towels. Dean put the third towel on an empty spot on the couch and began gently shaking the boy's arm.

"Kid. Hey, kid. Wake up. Wake up, come on." he prodded

A minute passed when, at last, the kid's eyes blearily flickered half-open, went around the room and found Dean. "Where'm I?" he asked hoarsely.

"Inside our motel room. You fainted like a girl back there." said Dean, trying to lighten up the situation.

His eyes opened a tad more. "What's a motel?"

Dean held back a sigh. The kid must have bumped his head in the fountain and lost a marble or two. He darted into the kitchen to get the noodles and a fork and went back to the living room. He felt a bit of load leave his shoulders upon noting that the boy was not shivering as much anymore.

"Here, eat this, it'll make you feel better." said Dean, placing the container in the kid's hands.

The kid hesitated, eyeing the noodles with suspicion. As seconds ticked by, Dean realized that the expression was not suspicion, but more along the lines of curiosity. After some time, the kid finally dug the fork into the bowl and got one strand of noodle out. He cautiously put it in his mouth, only to yelp, spit it out and nearly drop the fork

"It's hot." he mewled.

"That's 'cuz you're supposed to blow on it first, stupid." said Dean.

He was met with a bewildered head-tilt.

Aggravated, Dean snatched the fork and noodles from the kid's hands. He twisted the fork around the bowl until a good amount of noodles were wrapped around it; he also made sure that a good coating of broth stuck to it (since he mixed the thing with holy water, just to be a little more sure that the kid was harmless).

Other than that, he tried not to think how ridiculous this was. He tried to pretend that he was back to feeding Sam again yet the awkwardness never decreased.

He raised the forkful of noodles near his lips and blew on it for a few seconds. Once satisfied, he let the fork hover in front of the kid's mouth.

And the kid just freaking stared at it like he did not know what was supposed to happen.

Dean was one moment away from jamming the noodles into the kid's mouth when the boy finally caught on and ate it.

He swallowed without twisting and yelling in agony. The kid was officially normal.

Dean kept feeding him until half the container was empty, which was as much as he could endure. The boy was already settling down into the towels and relaxing for the first time when Dean remembered something:

"Oh yeah, give me your hand." he said.

The kid's panicked look snapped back into place and he attempted burying himself under the towels.

"I swear I won't hurt you this time. I'm just gonna put something on it." said Dean, using the most patient, calmest voice he could muster.

For a while, the kid simply stared distrustfully at him before, slowly, a hand emerged from the towels.

"Not that, the other one." said Dean.

Blue eyes widening, it took an even longer time for his other hand – the one with the knife-slice – to come out. Dean grabbed onto it before the kid had second thoughts. He rummaged around the bottom of the coffee table before he fished out a pink band-aid with pictures of unicorns frolicking in flowers. He peeled it off and placed it along the cut.

"There. I picked that 'cuz you're such a baby. But if you're tough, you get the ones with race-cars or dinosaurs, like mine." He raised his leg and pulled his pant-leg up to reveal a race-car band-aid stuck on his knee.

The kid stared at it with eyes full of wonder, like it was a trophy only the best fighters could have. He was really starting to remind him of Sam.

The kid stared at his own band-aid, as if to absorb the importance of the whole band-aid hierarchy. "Thank you." he said quietly.

Dean nodded and rolled his pant back down. "What were you doing out there anyway?" he inquired.

"My brothers dragged and abandoned me. Now I don't know how to return to my home." replied the boy dejectedly.

That struck a chord in Dean's core. _Brothers?_ As in more than one? And they _abandoned_ him in the rain?

"You know where they went?" Dean asked.

"Heaven, most likely." he replied.

Heaven? Was that the Sunday school term for 'dead'?

"How long was that?" pressed on Dean.

"By now, it's already a very long time ago." the kid answered.

"What about your parents? Or any other relative?"

The kid did that weird head-tilt thing again. "I don't have parents." he said without remorse. "And all my siblings are in Heaven."

Now it was Dean's turn to just stare at him. It seemed like this kid had a real tough life; no wonder he was so scared when he met him. He had no one to look out for him.

Just then, the kid let out a yawn. When it was over, his eyes widened and an expression of alarm entered his face again.

"What was that?" he fearfully asked.

"What was what?" said Dean.

Aside from the rain, there was pure silence and stillness in the room, nothing to even be remotely considered as a threat. They waited for a couple of more minutes, and as they were starting to calm down, the boy yawned once more and totally freaked out once it was over.

"That." he squeaked.

Dean passed a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It's a yawn. It means you're tired." he said, squeezing out what patience remained in him. And now that he said it, the kid's eyes _had_ been drooping occasionally.

"Tell you what, we'll pick up the Q and A when there's daylight. You can sleep on the couch." said Dean, getting the noodle container. "I'm Dean Winchester, by the way. What's your – ?"

He looked up to see that the kid was already lying on the couch, fast asleep in his own makeshift nest of towels.

Sighing, Dean went to the kitchen as he muttered, "What a baby."


	2. Some  Have Silver Linings

**5:46 A.M.**

"Dean. Deeeeeeaaaaaann."

Reluctantly, Dean flipped over to the other side of the bed and let out a sigh. When he opened his eyes, he saw his brother standing so close to the bed that they were nearly touching. "What?" he asked.

Sam blinked, then briefly looked over his shoulder. "The towels are alive. And they hate me." he whispered.

For a minute, Dean had to process what he had just said before he slowly sat up. "What?" he asked again, although less demanding.

"They're on the couch. I poked 'em and they moved away from me… and they kinda growled at me." said Sam.

Dean gave him a look. "Growl? They… ' _growled_ ' at you?" he clarified, heaving himself out of the bed. He had a hunch of what was really going on.

"Yeah, but it was sort of like a puppy or a little kitty." said Sam as he followed Dean into the living room. "Uh, now that I think about it, it wasn't _really_ a growl…"

"Shut up for a second, will ya?" Dean interrupted.

He walked all the way to the couch where a lumpy pile of towels were situated, and if he stared hard enough, he could make out a slow, gradual up-and-down motion from under them. Dean carefully pulled away the nearest towel and revealed a pale, sleeping face with a dark mop of hair.

Sam sidled up beside him and peered at the new spectacle. "The towels can turn into humans now?" he quietly asked.

"That's a _real_ human, dummy." said Dean. He then proceeded to tell his brother of the happenings last night, plus a couple of opinions he was harboring about the kid.

"Really? That's so cool." Sam breathed out in awe.

Dean did not say anything. Sure, he saved the kid but it was not like he made things all that better for him; he was still homeless, alone and probably some other level of messed up Dean had yet to discover. And upon noticing the slight flush in his cheeks, the kid now had a slight fever to boot. As Dean checked on their surroundings, he realized it was much colder here than in the bedroom, not to mention that outside was still gray and rainy.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Sam was approaching the kid, probably going to wake him up.

"Careful with him." said Dean, although he was not sure whether he was after his brother's safety or the kid's.

Sam merely nodded anyway. "Wake up. Wake up." he said gently, shaking the kid's shoulder.

There was a second Dean wanted to stop him; the kid still looked as tired and fragile as ever and he could use some more sleep. However, the kid was soon rousing and his eyes sluggishly cracked open. Judging by the haze in his eyes, the kid was still a bit groggy to register what was going on, but it did not take long for them to clear.

When the kid saw Sam being so close to him, his eyes widened, he scrambled away and screamed.

Sam, caught unaware, screamed as well and fell to his bum.

The kid screamed louder.

Sam screamed louder.

Dean palmed his face before slapping his other hand over his brother's mouth to shut him up. Next, he ran toward the kid, who was still fearfully backing away, and caught him before he fell off the couch and hit his head again.

"Whoah, hey, easy there. I've saved you enough times already." Dean could not help but chuckle. Once he dragged him to the middle of the couch, the kid had his frightened gaze locked on Sam, who was currently staring at the kid with wide-eyed fascination.

"That's just Sammy, my brother; he won't hurt you, right?" placated Dean, stealing a glance at his brother.

"No, I won't! Honest!" said Sam as he found his feet.

Snickering, Dean turned his attention back to their visitor. "How're you feeling, kid?" he asked.

The kid seemed to have calmed down, his eyes were not as wide anymore and his posture was not as rigid. Nevertheless, he did not answer.

"Kid?" Dean tried again, slightly worried.

The kid scrunched his eyes shut before half-opening them. "Please stop doing that." he murmured.

"Stop doing what?" inquired Dean.

"Making the room spin… It hurts to look at." the kid muttered woozily.

That set Dean's inner alert levels on high. "Sam – "

"I'm on it!" said Sam, scurrying off to the kitchen to get what they needed.

Dean allowed himself a small smile at his brother, though it did not last long. The kid must have simply woken up too fast, coupled by the fever he was already having.

"Just try to relax, close your eyes and lean back. It's just a dizzy spell." soothed Dean, kindly pushing the kid even deeper into the couch, which was a bit of a struggle since the kid was resisting and tensing.

"Dizzy… spell? Haven't heard… such a spell…" he mumbled.

Before anything else could happen, Sam finally returned, carrying a glass of water, some pills and a banana. "Here, Dean. I got 'em." he said urgently.

"Thanks, Sam." Dean took the banana first, peeled it and presented it to the kid, who had already lost what color he had retained last night. "Here, take two bites outta this." he instructed.

The kid gave the banana one long stare before turning away with a barely audible groan.

"Come on, we can't get you to take the medicine unless you eat something first." said Dean.

The silence of anticipation lasted for almost a minute, but eventually the kid gave in and took a tiny bite out of the banana, then another. Dean was extremely grateful that he did not have to feed him this time. Once the last bit was swallowed, Dean got a pill and the glass of water and explained to the kid that he had to gulp down the pill fast then drink the water right after. Thankfully, the kid obliged much sooner, albeit he looked like he regretted that when he shuddered at the taste of the pill.

"That was unpleasant." he commented after a while.

"That's why it's medicine." said Dean smirking. "I'm Dean, Dean Winchester. And I already told you that this is Sam." he said, pointing to his left.

When Sam noticed that the kid was clear in the freak-out zone, he beamed and walked over to him. "Hi! What's your name?" he asked cheerily.

"C– " The kid gasped and suddenly placed both his hands over his mouth.

Dean and Sam shared suspicious glances.

"What? Carl? Keith? Kevin?" offered Dean.

The kid shook his head and looked like he was attempting to sink into the couch. "I'm not supposed to reveal it yet." he muttered.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

This time, the kid's eyes fell on his hands and let them remain there. "It's the law in my family." he said quietly.

Messed up family, messed up kid; it made sense. "What's with the 'yet'? You can't say it _yet_?" Dean inquired.

"Once I come of age, I can proclaim it." the kid shyly replied.

"And that would be when?"

"Many, many years from now."

Dean released a huff and crossed his arms. "That's not fair. We told you _our_ names," he said.

"I didn't ask for it." the kid blurted out, his voice cracking.

That was the tone Dean recognized that he should not push. "Fine. Keep your name a secret, but we can't just go around calling you 'kid' all the time. You need a name." he said.

"Let's name him Conner!" Sam suddenly piped up.

Both Dean and the kid eyed him peculiarly. "Conner? Why that?" Dean asked.

Sam reached under the coffee table and pulled out the worn comic book they found when they first entered the room, the one that Sam got seriously hyped up over upon finding it. "Superboy's human name." he explained happily, pointing at the character on the cover.

Sam then brought the comic book up next to the boy on the couch. "He _kinda_ looks like Superboy, and since he's not telling his real name, that's sorta like a secret identity already." he added.

Well, the name was as good as any. "You alright with 'Conner'?" Dean asked the kid.

He mulled over it for a while. "I suppose." he said.

"Great. You're Conner now." said Dean.

"Yay, Conner!" Sam cheered. And just like that, he full-on rammed into the newly-dubbed Conner for a hug. Needless to say that Conner was very taken aback by the action. "Can we keep him?" asked Sam.

"Sammy, we can't keep him; he's not a pet. He needs to get to an orphanage or something; he doesn't belong with us." Dean explained.

The enthusiasm in Sam's expression withered away yet he held on tighter to Conner. "But… he has nowhere else to go." he whimpered.

Dean sighed and regarded Conner again. "Conner, are you absolutely sure that you don't know anyone who can help you get home?" he asked.

Apparently, Conner was still getting used to his new name since he did not answer immediately. "I've tried calling them in every way I know how. None of them seem to be listening." he said.

"Why don't you just tell us your real name? Maybe the police can help." suggested Dean.

"Everyone I know is in Heaven. They can't help me." said Conner.

Dean bit back a curse. "Where do you live anyway?" he asked.

"Heaven." Conner replied.

"Very funny. Now really, where do you live?"

"I just told you."

Dean sighed once more. Either Conner had bumped his head harder than he thought or 'Heaven' could just be a street name or a short bit of a long address little kids could barely remember. It really did not help much.

All of a sudden, Sam was tugging at his shirt. "Dean, we're still going to jog around the park, right?" he asked.

"Sammy," Dean began.

"You promised." interjected his brother, his eyes going wide and dewy.

Damn that puppy-dog stare. "Fine, get dressed." said Dean.

Sam grinned before he disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Dean alone with Conner. He was thinking of just leaving him here in the room while he and Sam go out. They had been planning this since they came here and Dean was not about to ruin it for them by having a stranger tag along. Besides, after what happened to Conner last night, he figured he should stay indoors for a while.

He had perfectly reasonable excuses, yet somehow Dean ended up saying, "Hey, Conner, why don't you go follow Sam and see if there's anything that can fit you,"

Conner seemed more surprise than he was. "Why?" he asked.

"One, you're a mess." said Dean, indicating that his shirt and pants were muddy, torn and even a tad damp. "Two, you're coming with us." he added.

"I am?"

The fact of the matter was that Dean had no choice. No matter how harmless (and pathetic) Conner appeared to be, he still did not trust him, not really. Leaving him alone with all their stuff was a bad idea, and he could not have him passing out while no one was around. Whether they wanted to or not, Conner had to be constantly under his watch.

"I don't know what to do with you. Until dad comes home, you're stuck with us for a while." said Dean. This would just be temporary; once his dad returned, he would know what to do with Conner. "So you gotta do what we do."

**6:22 A.M.**

Once the rain had finally stopped, they immediately headed for the park.

"Hurry up, Sammy! I thought you wanted us to be the first in line for that nacho stand," hollered Dean. They were already on their second trip and they thought going off the beaten path would spice things up this time.

"Dean, look," piped up Sam.

Dean turned around, only to see his brother nervously watching Conner take hold of some railings for support. Upon closer inspection, Conner was panting hard and his legs were shaking. Normally, Dean would scoff at this weak display – he and Sam had not even broken a sweat yet – but then he recalled last night's drowning and today's slight fever so Conner's body was not exactly at its peak.

"Hey, kid – I mean Conner, you okay?" Dean asked, walking over to him.

Conner continued to pant heavily and lean more into the railings.

"Conner?" Sam tried, concerned.

A moment passed until, finally, Conner peeled open hazy eyes and replied, "I-I'm fine. I'm simply… not used to running."

Dean's eyebrows went up at that, still novel to the idea that there were some people who did not run much, or at all. "Really? That means you gotta get a lot more exercise. You don't wanna end up a big blob, do ya?" he joked.

With effort, Conner tilted his head to look at him. "I don't… understand." he panted.

Rolling his eyes, Dean was about to lecture him when a small grumbling noise reached their ears. He traced it to Conner's belly, which was easy because he and Sam were used to not eating yet at this hour. Dean looked up and saw that Conner had a bewildered and horrified expression on his face, similar to when he yawned last night.

"Relax. That was just your stomach telling you you're hungry." said Dean before Conner could freak out again.

"I'm hungry?" There was another head-tilt as he stared down at his abdomen, something that was kind of a problem since he was wearing at least three layers of Sam's thickest, fluffiest sweaters. "I've never been… hungry before." he admitted, and Dean could not help but notice how he uttered the word 'hungry,' as if this was the first time he had ever said it.

"Man, you must've had an easy life. No exercise, no hunger," Dean went on. He poked at Conner's chest a few times and he stumbled backward instantaneously. "You're a sissy-pansy!" he remarked.

Cue the head-tilt and squinty eyes. "What's a sissy-pansy?" he asked.

Sam went next to Conner and whispered something in his ear.

"I'm _not_ a sissy-pansy!" Conner exclaimed.

Dean smirked as he took a few steps forward. Then something beyond the railings caught his eye. "Whoah! Check out that leaf pile down there!" he elatedly cried out.

Sam and Conner peered over the railings as well. The railings were apparently preventing people from tumbling down a very steep decline that led to a wooded area; it also prevented them from the awesome, enormous leaf pile at the bottom that had accumulated over the days.

"It would be so cool to jump in there." said Sam eagerly.

"Hey, Sammy, I dare you to go down that hill." snickered Dean.

"No way! You go first!" his brother playfully countered.

Dean was about to oppose to that when he noticed Conner still eyeing the pile intently. "I betcha Conner's too much of a sissy-pansy to go down there." he teased.

Conner pushed himself away from the railings and glared at him. "I'm not a sissy-pansy." he said.

"Yeah, you are. But don't worry, once me and Sammy get down there, we'll save you a leaf or two to jump in." said Dean. He gave Sam a challenging look as he held a closed fist in front of him, ready for an epic battle of rock-paper-scissors. "Alright, loser goes down first to check the terrain but jumps into the leaves last. Ready? One, two – "

Suddenly, Conner darted through the railings and practically jump-rolled down.

"Conner!" Sam and Dean screamed in unison.

In less than a second, Conner vanished into the pile of leaves and did not get back up. Sam and Dean hurried down the hill and began searching desperately for Conner.

"Conner! Conner, where are you?" Dean shouted through the leaves.

They went on scattering the leaves everywhere and it took a lot longer than Dean liked to locate him. He was actually getting really worried.

"Dean, I found him!" called out Sam, gripping onto a part of a sweater.

Together, the dug Conner out of the last pile and hauled him to a sitting position. He had scratches everywhere but there did not seem to be any major damage.

"Hey, hey, your melon still intact? How many fingers am I holding?" asked Dean frantically, holding up three digits.

Conner blinked and Sam had to keep him steady to avoid a face-plant.

"Say something!" yelled Dean.

Conner blinked slowly once more before his blank, shocked appearance made way for a grin.

"I'd like to do that again!" he proclaimed.

Both Winchesters stared at him incredulously before all three of them burst out laughing.

"You're messed up!" guffawed Dean.

"Perhaps, but now the leaves have scattered and you two have no pile left to jump in." remarked Conner.

Glancing at their surroundings, they discovered Conner's words were true. They had spread the leaves out so much when they had been looking for him that it would take hours to assemble them into a pile again.

"Why you – " Dean started, chuckling.

"Get him!" Sam happily screamed.

They ganged up on Conner and began throwing leaves at him. It was a two-on-one battle so Conner lost not long after, which instigated an even more intense tickle-fight that rendered Conner as helpless as ever.

Once the adrenalin had died down, all three of them lied down on the grass, just trying to regain their energy.

"You know, you're alright," Dean said to Conner as he lightly punched his arm. Dean then slowly sat up. "Come on, I know a big, cheesy plate of nachos that has your name on it."

Conner tilted his head at him. "Nachos?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Adult!Cas is to Superman…
> 
> …then it's only logical that Fledgling!Cas is to Superboy.
> 
> Also, I needed Cas to go under a different name to prevent time-paradoxes and stuff like that.
> 
> Btw, certain questions about Cas' vessel will be answered in the coming chapters (but he is in possession of Jimmy).


	3. Not Your Carpet Ride

**7:15 A.M.**

They found themselves a bench to sit on, one that was remote enough to be ignored by the presently awake townspeople, and hidden under the shade of a large oak tree for good measure.

Dean and Sam were practically shoving their nachos down their throats as their metabolism finally caught up to them. While they were enjoying themselves, Conner, on the other hand, was still staring at his untouched pile like he was attempting to understand its existence.

"I've never had... nachos before." confessed Conner, and he pronounced the word 'nachos' with some difficulty, as if he was saying something in a totally new language.

"About time you tried them then." said Dean.

It looked like Conner was about to say something when his stomach grumbled loudly.

"Sounds like you haven't eaten in days." remarked Dean.

Conner blinked the momentary shock and confusion away and chose to stare at the grass. "I haven't eaten at all. I don't _need_ to eat." he muttered.

As if to contradict him, his stomach growled again, so furiously this time that Conner doubled over in pain and nearly dropped his nachos.

"Really?" responded Dean, raising an unimpressed, teasing brow. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Conner had even eaten anything recently other than the scant meal he served him earlier.

Conner gradually straightened himself up, the last traces of resistance abandoning him as a breeze flew by and let the aroma of the nachos hit him in the face. Cautiously, Conner picked up a small piece, examined it for a moment, then put it in his mouth.

"So how is it?" Dean asked.

While chewing ever-so-slowly, a faraway look entered Conner's eyes, as if he was searching for the right answer. Eventually, he swallowed his first nacho and got another one; the same pensive expression appeared, like he was struggling to figure out what to say. Then he got a third, a fourth, a tenth… soon, the thoughtful look melted away and his eyes got brighter and more enthusiastic with every bite.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." snickered Dean, returning to his own nacho-pile. Although, he did not get far as he almost immediately felt Sam tugging at his right side.

"Dean, I want more nachos." he said.

Dean glanced up to survey their environment, only to learn that there was no longer a single vendor in sight.

"The nacho-guy's already gone." he said.

He was met with his brother's teary, puppy-dog look, and somehow the splotches of cheese on his cheeks merely enhanced it rather than ruined it.

Sighing, Dean handed the rest of his nachos – which had not even reached their halfway-point – to Sam. "Here."

As Sam happily dug into some more nachos (and got his face even dirtier), Dean leaned back further into the bench until his spine was pressing against wood. He tilted his gaze up and noticed that the sky was still a dark, cloudy gray, meaning that another heavy downpour would be imminent.

Just then, at the corner of his vision, he saw Conner presenting his nachos to his face. Dean turned to his left and was greeted by Conner's steady blue gaze; when seconds passed and Conner still did not put his nachos down, realization dawned on Dean.

"What're you giving me these for?" he asked a little tersely.

"I want you to have them." said Conner.

Dean blinked in surprise. "Don't you like them?" he inquired.

"I do, but you like them more." Conner replied calmly.

After a moment passed when Dean tested Conner if he was really sincere about the offer, Dean breathed out a word he rarely got to use: "Thanks."

It was… weird to say that word, it sounded nearly foreign on his tongue. For the most part of his life, he had always been the one to give and Sam always the one to receive. He accepted that fate a long time ago, so it was kind of nice for him to get something for a change.

A tiny bell tinkling in the distance alerted them to the arrival of an ice cream vendor.

"Hey, Sammy, go buy us some ice cream, will ya?" said Dean, handing his brother some money.

"What flavors?" he asked.

"The usual." Dean answered.

Sam nodded and sprinted off… only to come back a couple of seconds later. "Does Conner have a usual?" he asked.

Dean looked to Conner, except the response he got from him was a confounded, wide-eyed expression.

"Give him vanilla." said Dean, repressing an eye-roll.

With that, Sam took off, faster this time so he could catch up to the ice cream vendor. That left Dean alone with Conner and, for a while, they sat in an unexpectedly comfortable silence.

Then Conner spoke up. "Ice cream?"

It was not instant, though Dean ultimately detected the utterly clueless tone in his voice, the same one he used when he first heard about nachos. "No one ever gave you ice cream before?" asked Dean.

"Matters like these are unnecessary for my family." said Conner.

' _Unnecessary_ '? What were they, health-freaks? "You've got a sucky family if you live like that. You gotta make up for lost time." said Dean seriously.

Conner stared at him, almost unblinkingly, and Dean could pretty much see his brain treating his words like a piece of information he should bear in mind. He was really starting to remind him of Sam, the only difference was that he did not talk much.

Just then, Sam finally returned with their ice cream: strawberry for him, chocolate for Dean, and an innocently plain vanilla for Conner. As Dean and Sam instantly began licking at their ice cream, just like with the nachos, Dean noticed Conner just intently studying his treat, as if there was a code buried deep within that had to be deciphered.

A sigh escaped Dean's lips before he nudged Conner's shoulder and broke his attention. Conner's startled eyes quickly snapped up to meet Dean's and Dean gestured at his ice cream, silently commanding him to eat it.

Once the uncertainty dissolved, Conner gave his ice cream a tentative lick. He blinked a couple of times in confusion. "It's cold." he observed absentmindedly.

"Yep." said Dean.

Conner studied his ice cream considerably. "It's already cold out here. And we're also consuming something cold," he went on.

"We're awesome that way. Ain't that right, Sammy?" hollered Dean.

"Uh-huh!" Sam cheerfully replied, his face messier than ever with cheese and strawberry.

They entered into another relaxed silence after that. Occasionally, Dean would sneak glances at Conner to check if he was really eating his ice cream and not staring it down. However, it turned out that that would not be a problem anymore as every lick Conner made, his eyes sparked a little more in fascination and enjoyment, which urged him to attack his ice cream with more zeal.

Then he licked too hard and his vanilla scoop fell to the ground.

Simultaneously, all three of them stared at the fallen ice cream in stunned horror, with about the same intensity as anyone would give when faced with the end of the world.

"There's still the five-second rule." Sam meekly offered.

And that was when a group of joggers decided to run by them and, in turn, reduce the vanilla ice cream into goo.

Dean looked at Conner and saw a miserable – essentially heartbroken – expression on his face. Next to Sam's weepy puppy expression, this was the saddest thing Dean had seen in his life.

"Here, Conner. You can have the rest of mine." said Dean, offering him his ice cream.

Conner studied the chocolate ice cream for a moment. "But that's _your_ ice cream." he said.

"And you gave me _your_ nachos." Dean countered.

Dean could simply be imagining it, but he could have sworn that Conner was trying to blink back some unshed tears. "Thank you." said Conner quietly as he took the ice cream from Dean.

It was not until Conner overcame his shame and shyly licked at his new ice cream did Dean's worried gaze leave him.

With his nachos already gone, Dean's thoughts were left to wander. As his mind went from one random subject to another, his hunter's common sense kicked in and he realized something: when they had unearthed Conner from the pile of leaves, every bit of Conner's unprotected flesh became covered in scratches. Sneaking a glance at Conner now, Dean could find not even a single line marring his pale skin.

"Look, Dean! I want _that_ bike for Christmas!" exclaimed Sam all of a sudden. He was jumping up and down on his seat, one hand shaking Dean and the other pointing at a mountain bike that just went around the curve. Dean had to admit that that bike truly looked impressive.

"You're too short for that bike." said Dean.

"No, I'm not! I got taller last month!" cried out Sam, straightening his back for emphasis.

Dean ruffled his hair and easily made him sink back down. "You're still too short. You're better off riding a pink, girly tricycle." he chuckled.

"But I don't want a girly tricycle." said Sam.

"Tough. It's that or no bike for you until you get really, really taller." said Dean.

When Sam crossed his arms and pouted at him, Dean simply laughed harder. "Come on, Conner. Let's rent some bikes so we can rub it at Sam's face." he said as he got to his feet.

Technically, Conner was still shorter than Dean, but he was slightly taller than Sam so that made all the difference. Dean walked a few steps forward, and when Conner failed to appear beside him, he whipped around and saw that he was still on the bench with Sam.

Conner tilted his head to the side. "Bike?"

There was that clueless tone again.

As reality sank in, Dean's eyes widened and his mouth hung agape for a second. "You're kidding me!" he groaned.

**8:02 A.M.**

"Alright. Sammy, check him for me. Helmet?"

"Check!"

"Knee pads?"

"Check!"

"Elbow pads?"

"Check!"

"Bell?"

"Check!"

"Brakes?"

"Check!"

"I'm not certain about doing this." admitted Conner nervously. He was sitting - or rather, frozen in place by fear - on a blue bike. He was geared up and basically ready to go, scared stiff or otherwise.

"Shut up, Conner. You're learning how to ride a bike whether you want to or not. The nachos and ice cream, I could deal with; but it's just embarrassing for a kid not to know how to ride a bike. Handlebars?" Dean continued in an all-business tone.

"Check!"

"Front wheel?"

"Check!"

"Back wheel?"

"Check!"

"Pedals?"

"Check!"

"Rider?"

Sam walked over to Conner and gave him the most serious expression he could muster. "In case you break all your bones, I'm gonna give you a big hug right now." he said. He then lunged forward and hugged a very bewildered, terrified Conner. "Check!" he happily proclaimed.

Dean performed a quick mental checklist and nodded to himself when he covered everything. "Okay, you're good to go. Just remember my instructions from earlier, and whatever's gonna happen, I want you to know that it was nice meeting you, Conner." he said.

"Yeah." joined in Sam as he went beside Dean. As one, they gave Conner a soldier's salute.

Conner's eyes widened even more in terror. "But – "

"Go!"Dean shoved him down the fifty foot-tall hill and the air was filled with Conner's screams.

Conner sped down the path like a bullet, and when he made it to the bottom and still kept on going, Dean playfully elbowed his brother's ribs and threw him a wicked grin.

"After him!" he exclaimed.

A brief, wide smile played itself across Sam's lips before they ran down the hill and tried to catch up with Conner. It was not long until Conner's awkward, shaky swerves brought him to a large crowd of people; luckily, everyone jumped out of his way with so much vigor that would put Moses and the Red Sea to shame. All Dean and Sam had to do was stay on the trail of parted people and listen to Conner's cries of terror.

When Conner was within their sights again, his bike jerked and wobbled so precariously that he almost crashed into the bongo drums of a street band. However, at the last second, he managed to turn to the right and got himself into another steep decline.

As the Winchester brothers passed by the band, Dean could have sworn that they discontinued their first song and began playing ' _Highway to Hell_ ' on purpose.

To be honest, Conner was holding on longer than Dean suspected, and the thought of a lengthy chase was actually kind of thrilling. Soon enough, things got more exciting when Conner unintentionally veered onto the path that was headed straight for a wedding procession.

The bride and groom were already joyously running toward their carriage, oblivious to the approaching threat. Conner's screams only gave them a second's notice before he zipped in between them. The bride and groom fell to the pavement, and the bouquet flew up into the air and landed on Conner's basket.

Dean and Sam exchanged disbelieving, mischievous glances with one another before breaking into a fit of laughter. They picked up the pace as Conner entered the picnic grounds; needless to say that the situation got a little messier and more chaotic as food started flying off everywhere.

Dean actually had to backtrack for a minute to swipe off an abandoned slice of pie. If this continued, they might have to use Conner in a grocery store or a mall or something considering how effective he was at dispersing people.

Then, Conner uncontrollably ventured into jugglers' territory – more specifically, jugglers who juggled burning chainsaws, axes and machetes.

"Pedal, Conner! Pedal!" urged Sam.

"Eyes in front! Keep that thing straight!" shouted Dean.

Even with his back turned to them, Dean could already see Conner's eyeballs threatening to leap out of their sockets if that meant they would remain intact.

" _Deeeeeeaaaaann_!" Conner shrieked as he entered the death-zone.

There was a part of Dean that doubted Conner getting out of there alive. But, miraculously, the same uncoordinated swerves that led him there in the first place were successfully weaving him side to side and out of harm's reach. It was an unbelievable sight, and Sam and Dean were unable to stop themselves from cheering him on.

"You're doing good! Just keep going!" yelled Dean.

"You think he'll make it to the end of the park?" Sam asked eagerly.

"If he doesn't crash into someone's dog, maybe." said Dean, although he was already sure that Conner was going to make it, even if it was only through sheer dumb-luck.

Before long, the ungraceful jerking motions disintegrated and Conner was finally riding the bike smoothly across an empty pathway.

"You're doing it! You're doing it, Conner!" Dean exclaimed.

"Alright, Conner!" cheered Sam.

Though still at a distance, they were close enough to Conner to see a breathless smile light up his features.

"It's almost like I'm flying again!" he said excitedly.

Dean did not know what he meant by that (must be the adrenaline making him say crazy stuff) but he was actually kind of proud of him. He got him to learn how to ride a bike.

He looked ahead of them and saw the park gates getting nearer. "Okay, Conner, you can stop now." said Dean.

Yet Conner still kept on going.

"Conner, stop! You're gonna crash!" Dean screamed.

"I can't!" yelled Conner.

The gates were getting closer and closer, and Conner's speed appeared to be increasing…

"Conner!" Dean and Sam shouted in unison.

**9:26 A.M.**

They located a small clinic on the other side of town, which was harder to reach because Conner had difficulty in walking. Sam and Dean had to support Conner most of the way; luckily, people made way for them when they noted how beaten up Conner was.

When they arrived, Dean asked the first nurse he saw if she could help treat Conner; however, all the nurse did was roll her eyes at them.

"Money before medicine, boys." she sneered.

Dean wanted to stomp on her foot, although upon hearing Conner moan in agony beside him, he had no choice but to get some money.

**11:00 A.M.**

When it was obvious that the pain was getting worse for Conner, Dean and Sam hid him away in an alley behind a dumpster, telling him not to go anywhere or reveal himself unless they returned. Once that was accomplished, the brothers set off for their pick-pocket spree, which generally involved Sam playing the role of an innocent, lost child who went up to random strangers while Dean craftily took their wallets.

There were times when their cover got blown, but after a while, Dean had acquired enough money for some medicine, plus a few extra cash for a whole week's worth of food and maybe even a new toy or two.

**11:41 A.M.**

The nurse did not seem too suspicious that a couple of kids had gotten a great amount of money in such a short time. She gave them a ticket with a number on it and told them to wait for their turn.

Their number was 39.

The current number on the display board was 4.

With a sigh, Dean decided that they should go out for lunch first.

"Okay, but can I steal the lollipops first?" Sam whispered, surreptitiously pointing to the unguarded bowl at the counter. Those looked like the kind that kids got whenever they visited a place like this, and it was clear that it had not been emptied for some time.

Dean looked around and noticed the nurses were not watching, and the other patients waiting in the room were too occupied with their thoughts to bother with acknowledging anything else.

"Good idea." commended Dean.

"It's actually Conner's," replied Sam.

Stunned, Dean glanced at Conner, who immediately blushed and stared at the floor when he realized he was being scrutinized.

"It was merely a suggestion." murmured Conner sheepishly.

Suggestion or not, Dean could not help but smile in admiration. Maybe with enough time, they could take the Sunday school-nerd part right out of him and totally replace that with something more along the lines of a Winchester.

**12:35 P.M.**

Conner did not know what hot dogs were. Big surprise.

Dean ordered a mega-foot-long for him so Conner would _always_ remember hot dogs.

**1:16 P.M.**

As Conner got more and more tired with moving around, Dean got a skateboard that 'just so happened' to be lying on the side of the road, next to a bunch of teenagers making graffiti on a wall. The teenagers were not happy when the three of them took off on it.

Eventually, they managed to lose them. They let Conner sit on the board for a while; Dean attached a string to it so he can pull him. Things got a tad boring after they reached two blocks, and from there, an idea sparked and there was nothing to stop them (or at least Dean and Sam) from 'extending the advantages' of their booty by going on a joy ride on the skateboard across town. The city hall and library ramps were good places to start with, although their time there was short-lived since the guards shooed them off.

Then they found a construction site and all hell broke lose.

Poor Conner though. Dean sincerely hoped he did not pee in his pants... albeit, since Conner only borrowed them from Sam and _not_ him, Dean supposed it was alright.

**4:28 P.M.**

At the end of the joy ride, all three of them were thankful to be in the clinic. Sam suffered from bruises and scrapes, Dean from a skinned elbow and Conner… well, nothing he did not already have.

The nurse treated their injuries first: apparently, Conner's ankle was seriously sprained, almost broken, which explained why he had a hard time walking. After a splint was tied to his leg, the nurse made Conner take some pills that she said would help with his ankle and the light fever that seemed to have returned.

The three of them barely managed to step out of the clinic when Conner's medicine kicked in and made him incredibly drowsy. Sam volunteered to stay by his side to keep him from falling to the sidewalk. Dean pulled their skateboard along and began the long journey to their motel.

**5:03 P.M.**

Along the way, the three of them stumbled into a bunch of older kids who, at first, brutally teased them and hurled threats about venturing into their territory. At the moment, Dean wanted to avoid trouble, but when one of the kids saw Conner as the easiest target, fist raised and aimed at his stomach, Dean snapped and went full-on attack mode.

Sam was still too young for a direct fight, so that left him guarding Conner if one of the other kids tried sneaking to them. In the end, Dean sent the gang running with their tails between their legs; the only problem was that he had used their skateboard as a weapon and had ended up breaking it.

Dean sighed and looked around if there was anything they could use that could carry Conner, who was already having a tough time keeping his eyes open. When Dean found nothing suitable, he ran his fingers across his hair and, reluctantly, gave Conner a piggy-back ride.

**6:40 P.M.**

"How're you doing up there, Conner?" Dean asked. He could feel the warmth of the fever radiating off him, and as much as he wanted to be in the presence of heat in this cold weather, it just felt weird doing this.

Conner blinked sleepily for a few times. "Feel weird." he murmured.

"That's okay. That just means the medicine's working through you." said Dean. They were almost there. He could see the motel sign flashing in the distance, beckoning them closer.

Dean turned to his right and saw that Sam was still holding Conner's hand, although Dean was uncertain whether Sam was worried for Conner or Conner was getting scared with what was happening and needed comfort. Could be both. Either way, all Dean knew was that Sam had not let go of Conner's hand since he started carrying him, which was odd since Sam did not attach himself to strangers so quickly.

"Dean," Sam piped up, gesturing at Conner.

Dean looked over his shoulder and discovered that Conner had fallen asleep on him. "Aw, Conner!" he groaned.

Luckily, the motel was within a stone throw's away and Dean hurried the rest of the way there, Sam struggling behind him. Before the situation could escalate into an even higher level of 'chick-flick moment,' Dean laid Conner on the couch and wiped the drool off the back of his shoulder.

Studying the person sleeping in front of him, Dean could not help but think that this was the guy responsible for the long day they had had. This stranger, who came out of nowhere and was now stuck with them until further notice, had briefly brought back a sense of harmless excitement back into their lives, even without meaning to. This kid, the most vulnerable Dean had ever seen, had become his responsibility ever since he found him in the rain last night.

"Get a pillow for him. I'll find a blanket." Dean ordered without thinking. He barely even knew Conner, and yet he was beginning to feel a sense of attachment to him.

A minute later, Sam returned with one of the extra pillows in the closet, while Dean held in his hands Sam's baby blanket, which they somehow managed to keep throughout the years. It was thin, moth-eaten and had an embarrassing duck print on it; however, it was a definite improvement from the pile of towels Conner had to make do with last time.

Carefully, Dean lifted Conner's head so he can slip the pillow underneath. Next, he covered him with the blanket and tucked him in, though not as gently as he would with his brother.

"Should I wake him up for dinner?" Sam asked once Dean was done.

Dean considered it for a moment, but when he glanced at Conner sleeping so soundly – not at all sickeningly pale and shivering – he replied, "Nah. Just let him sleep."

Sam walked over to Conner. "He could be hungry." he said imploringly.

"We'll have a big breakfast tomorrow then." said Dean.

His brother appeared like he wanted to argue but instead let it slide. He turned to Conner again and knelt down at his head.

"Goodnight, Conner." Sam whispered, then kissed him gently on the forehead.

That caught Dean entirely by surprise. Sure, he noticed Sam making an effort to get close to Conner, but this was… too much. As much fun hanging out with him today was, Conner was still a stranger to them, just a random, ordinary kid who did not need to get dragged into their life. The last thing they wanted was to start getting attached to people like him; if there was anything Dean had learned, it was that family was the only one he could trust, and Conner was unquestionably not family.

"Yeah, night." said Dean as he ruffled Conner's hair a bit. Without another word, Dean went to the kitchen to cook up some dinner for him and his brother.


	4. Host of Heaven, Sing Over Me

**8:19 A.M.**

Dean plopped down onto the sofa to watch TV. He had just finished whipping up a big breakfast for all of them – a huge plate overflowing with scrambled eggs, another plate that held several pieces of toast with jars of peanut butter and blueberry jam at the ready, and a bowl of sliced oranges – and he was ready to give himself a break. When the last of the plates were sitting on the coffee table in the living room, Dean grabbed the remote and made his way to the couch.

He was careful when he settled into his seat; Conner was still sleeping on the other end of the couch and Dean did not want to disturb him, especially since he seemed more at peace than last time. Regardless, Dean wondered how anyone could fall asleep on such a lumpy old thing, drugged up on medicine or not. At least his fever appeared to be gone, though his sprained ankle might take a while to recover, which was just one more reason for Conner to be stuck with them.

All thoughts and concern left Dean's mind the moment he picked up the remote and began looking for something good to watch.

_"This miracle cream will do wonders for your skin! Just one – "_

Next channel.

_"So what do you think will happen to the stock exchange in the coming – ?"_

Next channel.

_"..and it's very possible that a new species of bacteria will greatly contribute to the world of – "_

Next channel.

_"…case of a 'Jimmy Novak' who mysteriously disappeared on this day, six years ago. This boy claimed he went to the future but the hazy details – "_

Next channel.

_"See? If you just tie your knot like so, you'll be able to make a support so strong that – "_

Next channel.

"G'morning, Dean." Sam yawned as he lumbered out of their room. He was rubbing at one eye and had his free arm stretched above his head.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean greeted. "I already made breakfast."

Right on cue, his brother's eyes lit up and all traces of sleepiness left him. The next second, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor and digging his face into the pile of scrambled eggs. Dean simply rolled his eyes and continued flipping channels. Eventually, he was pretty sure that he had caught a glimpse of every show at least three times and it did not take long for him to go on autopilot.

His gaze wandered over to Sam, who was busy making another batch of 'Toast People' – which were basically pieces of toast with faces drawn on them using whatever was available, like peanut butter and jam and oranges. Meanwhile, Conner was still deeply asleep, and if he kept the volume on the TV down, he could stay that way a bit longer.

"Care Bears are on!" Sam exclaimed, bouncing a little in his seat.

Dean looked up and saw that, not only was he still going through the channels, but he was lingering on the ridiculously cuddly show. He flipped to the next channel immediately and was greatly pleased when he learned that it was a Metallica concert.

"Too bad. I got the remote and I wanna watch Metallica." dismissed Dean.

He thought that would be the end of the subject, then Sam tackled him into the couch and attempted to snatch the remote from him.

"Gimme!" he yelled.

"Hey, get off!" Dean grunted, trying to wrestle him off but his brother was proving to be resilient.

If Conner was not in the way, Dean would be able to shake Sam off much quicker. Unfortunately, Sam seemed to have forgotten all about Conner and was intent on grabbing the remote without restriction.

"I wanna watch Care Bears!" whined Sam, struggling all over Dean's body.

"Sam, get your butt outta my ear." Dean snarled as he pulled the remote further away from Sam's reach.

"Put it to Care Bears!" his brother cried out.

"No freaking way in hell. The best part's about to come on." Dean argued.

" _Dean_!" moaned Sam, fighting against him with renewed effort

Dean maneuvered them slightly to the left for Conner's sake. "Shut up; you're gonna wake up Conner." he said.

"Just change it back to Care Bears!" squealed Sam.

"No!"

"Come on!"

They battled for the remote for several more minutes, and Dean was fairly certain that the device was getting crushed and battered in the process.

Then a pitiful moan was heard that did not come from either of them. Both Sam and Dean turned to their right, and sure enough, Conner was sluggishly trying to sit up with bleary, partly-opened eyes. Before now, Dean always thought that there would not be anyone who could possibly top Sam's extremely messy hair, especially just after he had woken up. But glancing at Conner proved him wrong; his hair was sticking out in literally all directions like he had been caught in a whirlwind, which was odd because Conner had not moved from the position they placed him in last night.

"Great, see what you did? You woke Conner up." said Dean.

"No fair! You woke him up too!" griped Sam.

Dean fought the urge to argue with him and went over to Conner; since he was awake, he might as well get his vote. "Hey, Conner, I want you to settle something for us: would you rather watch the awesomeness that's Metallica, or a stupid baby show like Care Bears?" he asked.

Sam stuck his tongue at him, although Dean chose to ignore it. After Conner slowly blinked the grogginess out of himself, he started to scan the room with a lost, almost eerily dazed expression in his eyes.

"I'm still here," he murmured, a bit of shock and disbelief evident.

"Of course you're still here. Where'd you think you'd end up?" said Dean.

"I thought that…" Conner bowed his head and stared at the blanket. "I thought you would get rid of me." he whispered.

The Winchester brothers shared stunned looks.

Suddenly, Dean understood. "We're not gonna leave you behind like your family did. We're not like them." he said.

Conner must have thought that they would get rid of him the moment he fell asleep when they had still been outside. Apparently, he was still scared around them, and here Dean thought that _he_ was the one who was having the biggest trust issues.

As of now, Conner was staring at him with those wide blue eyes like he wanted to believe every word he just said, though it was obvious that Conner's apprehension was not going to go away any time soon. Dean felt kind of sorry for him; it made him wonder just what exactly Conner had been through to get him this way.

Before he could do anything else, Sam turned toward Conner. "Here, Conner. I made this for you. You can be the first one to eat the Toast People." he said, offering him a piece of toast with large blueberry eyes, messy peanut butter hair and a tiny smile made out of bits of scrambled egg. It actually sort of resembled Conner.

At that, Conner tilted his head to the side and his unease was replaced by interest. A subsequent growl from his stomach only piqued him more and caused him to walk to Sam. And it seemed that Conner had forgotten all about his sprain, since the minute he placed his weight on his injured ankle he collapsed, or he would have if Dean had not caught him.

"Whoah, ease up there. You still have your sprain to worry about." said Dean, guiding him back to the couch.

Eyes scrunched tight and his breathing coming out in a shaky pant, it took a while for Conner to recover from the pain. "I don't understand. This should've healed already." he muttered absentmindedly.

Conner tried to push himself up but Dean kept a restraining hand on him. "Stop walking around, would ya? And it'll take at least three days before you can really be up and about." said Dean.

Either Conner did not hear him or refused to listen, he squirmed out of Dean's hold and attempted walking again. As expected, he clumsily fell down, albeit this time on Sam, who yelped like a girl as a result.

"The more you walk on that, the longer it's gonna take to get better." Dean stated, holding back a snicker.

As Sam disentangled himself, Conner was left sitting in an awkward position with a faraway look in his eyes. "My powers must be fading," he whispered.

"Powers? You must've had some dream last night." chuckled Dean.

"Was _I_ in it?" piped up Sam cheerily.

Conner's expression cleared and he locked eyes with Dean. "It's not a dream. I really do have powers!" he exclaimed.

"Right, sure you do, and I wanna watch Care Bears." said Dean.

"Really?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No, stupid." retorted Dean

"But I _do_ have powers! I do!" yelled Conner, his eyes welling up with tears.

Realizing that Conner was close to breaking down, Dean decided not to push the issue anymore. This must simply be a side-effect of the drugs. "Alright, fine. You have powers. Now eat up and watch TV." he said, gesturing at the food on the table.

The silence barely lasted a minute.

"T…V?" repeated Conner.

And there was that tone again, the one that suggested he was absolutely unfamiliar with something. Not wanting to miss anything from the Metallica concert, Dean merely pointed to the object in question and hoped Conner would get it.

"Are you one of those weird people who don't have TV in their house?" Sam asked Conner after a while.

Conner's only response was a clueless blink.

"Man, how do you live like that?" commented Dean.

"I…" Conner timidly began.

"That's it. You're watching Metallica." concluded Dean.

"No way! Conner wants to watch Care Bears, right, Conner?" said Sam as he nabbed the remote from Dean and changed the channel.

"If Conner has to watch his first show ever, he's gonna watch Metallica." Dean argued, taking the remote and returning the screen to Metallica.

"He doesn't like that noisy stuff, do you?" Sam said to Conner as he seized the remote once more and brought Care Bears back on.

"Conner's watching Metallica!" shouted Dean, flipping to Metallica again.

"Care Bears!"

"Metallica!"

"Care Bears!"

"Metallica!"

" _Care Bears_!"

" _Metallica_!"

"Care Bears times infinity!"

"Metallica times infinity times a billion!"

For five minutes, the TV switched to Care Bears then Metallica then back again, and each minute brought more intensity between the two brothers.

All of a sudden, sparks flew out behind the TV and the screen went blank. A few seconds later, smoke curled out of the TV and the only thing the three of them could do was stare dumbfounded.

Dad was going to be pissed when he returned.

No one uttered a word for what seemed like hours. "So what are we watching?" Conner eventually asked.

**8:51 A.M.**

The three of them headed to the roof while they let the smoke clear (not to mention avoid getting blamed for damaging motel property by claiming that they were not even anywhere near the place when the TV exploded). There was an elevator at the ready, and to Dean's relief, he did not have to carry Conner all the way to the top, although he and Sam still had to support him as they made their way across the roof.

They managed to bring their breakfast along as well and they established a little picnic. Dean had to perch Conner on top of the building's ledge so that there would not be any weight on his ankle. Once Sam started blabbering on about Care Bears to Conner and captured his undivided attention, Dean grabbed a piece of toast and retreated to a corner a short distance away from them.

He stared out at the parking lot below and nearly expected a black Impala to be there, but not a single car was present. Dean sighed; there were still five more days before dad can come home, and that was if he kept his promise. He wondered where he was, what he was doing right now, what monster he was hunting this time. Dean wondered if his dad would bring souvenirs for him and Sammy when he returned, wondered whether he would bring back more injuries than stories… wondered how he would react to Conner.

His thoughts were disrupted when a flock of pigeons soared past, hovering way too close to his head for his liking. About half a minute later, another flock from a different direction came zipping overhead, this time at a distance so near that Dean stumbled backward.

And that was when he noticed the loud, multiple coos and chirps coming from behind him.

He turned and saw, to his shock, a bunch of birds taking up half the space on the roof and crowding around Conner, who was tearing off bits of toast and tossing them into the mass of feathers. Conner did not seem at all fazed by the unusually large number of birds that suddenly gathered in front of him; meanwhile, Sam was being his typical optimistic-self and was too thrilled with what was happening to question it.

"I wanna feed some too!" Sam declared joyfully. And to prove his carefree attitude, he just hurled a whole slice at an unsuspecting pigeon, which was then brutally attacked by its neighbors.

As Dean studied the scene more carefully, he realized that there were other species of bird besides pigeon in their midst: swallows, chickadees, warblers, larks, sparrows, robins and even a couple of doves. This was odd because it was already late October; some of these birds should have migrated long ago, or at least be in hiding. And since when were this many species of birds found in such a small town with hardly any trees?

Dean ogled at Conner. "How'd you get this many birds up here?" he inquired wildly.

"I don't get them to do anything. They do what they want." Conner replied, throwing more bread to a group of doves.

It later occurred to Dean that all of the doves were assembling unbelievably near Conner, almost threatening to bury him under a pristine white blanket. He sort of looked… angelic with all those doves in such close proximity to him.

Of course, Dean did not say that; that was a girly thing to say. So instead, he remarked, "You're a weird kid, you know that?"

Conner stared at him for a long time before returning to his task of bird-feeding. Dean vaguely entertained the notion that he _might have_ possibly offended him.

"Look, Dean! One of them's on my head." announced Sam gleefully, pointing to the robin that had nested into his hair.

"Maybe it wants to take a poop on you." Dean joked. Without warning, he felt a sharp beak peck his leg. "Hey!" he yelped. He looked down to where his culprit – a tiny sparrow – had its head tilted at him in a mocking gesture before fluttering off.

"They don't like you very much." snickered Sam.

Dean huffed. "Oh yeah? I bet I can feed more of them than you." he challenged.

"Loser cleans the dishes for the rest of the week." said Sam.

Two seconds hardly went by before the entire roof was filled with bread-bombardments from two separate sides. Eventually, Dean earned his own collection of feathered followers, as did Sam. Minutes ticked by and it was impossible to tell who had bigger numbers what with all the birds scattering everywhere. However, it was obvious that the biggest crowd belonged to Conner, even though he was only sitting on the ledge and watching all the birds shuffle around and nuzzle him.

The time came when Dean ran out of bread to give, and when he glanced up, he noted that the same could be said of his brother. "I say this calls for a draw." he said, shrugging.

Sam nodded and made his way toward Dean, something that proved to be rather difficult because there was hardly any room to move around in the mass of feathers. Currently, the entire roof was crammed with birds and it appeared that more were still on the way; this was getting ridiculous, not to mention a little terrifying.

A few ravens landed beside Sam and tried to peck at his knees. Dean pushed his brother behind him and shooed them off, but all that accomplished him was getting the birds less than a foot away. Immediately after that, the ravens let out a succession of ominous caws and advanced on the brothers.

"Uhm, Conner, you mind throwing the rest of your bread _away_ from here?" Dean called out over his shoulder.

Conner was on the opposite end of the roof, albeit from where Dean was standing, Conner might as well have been on another planet. Regardless, Dean did not miss the fear laced in Conner's voice when he said,

"I've run out of bread."

A sinking feeling settled in Dean's stomach. More birds were approaching them, and it was evident by the ravenous look in their eyes that they wanted food, a lot of food. Dean made another attempt to scare the birds off, at least enough of them to clear a path to the door, yet the birds were proving to be obstinate, or just really, really damn determined to get some more bread. Dean seriously hated himself right now for forgetting his knife down at their room.

"Alright, on three we make a run for it. One…" Dean started.

"Three!" yelled Sam.

As one, Dean, Sam and Conner plowed their way through the swarm like the fate of the world depended on it. The Winchester brothers were already two steps away from the door when they heard something fall down.

"Conner!" screamed Sam.

Dean whipped around. It took him a few seconds to locate Conner in the middle of all the birds, but when he finally pinpointed him just next to the ledge, he realized that he had not even made a single step. And now the birds were beginning to gather around his prone form, kind of like how kids would check out a fallen piñata.

"Help!" Conner cried out.

Dean spared Sam a glance and that was all it took for them to spring back into the feathery battleground and rush toward Conner. They braved through the scratches, the pecks and the earsplitting screeches and refused to slow down. Once they reached Conner, Dean and Sam took turns in supporting Conner's weight and shielding him from the birds' onslaught.

When Dean looked back, he saw that there were at least twenty birds close on their trail and flying like crazy. The three of them picked up the pace and it seemed as though the sounds of the world were reduced to a million wing-beats. The doorway was getting closer, as were the birds behind them. They ran and they ran and they ran…

The last couple of steps to the threshold were a desperate stumble, but they made it nonetheless. Dean kicked the door close just in time to barricade themselves from a missile launch of beaks. For a long time, they merely sat on the floor, panting and recovering from the shock.

Then Dean laughed – a little hysterically, yet more out of the thrill of having an adrenaline rush – who was followed by Sam, and even Conner eventually joined in.

"See? Told you we won't you leave you behind." Dean said to Conner.


	5. Moonbeams and Fairytales

**10:11 A.M.**

The three of them could not stay out of their motel room forever, and when the clouds discharged a heavy downpour, they had no choice but to head back. Thankfully, the manager let them off the hook for breaking the TV, although to compensate he said that the rest of their stay at the motel would be utterly TV-free… which sucked.

Dean was lying on the sofa, a slingshot in his hand and a couple of crumpled bits of paper by his head on the floor. For the past hour, he had been aiming at a particular blotch on the opposite wall, and if he hit it dead-on, the paper projectiles would land into a waste basket directly below. So far, everything he had fired was in the basket.

Meanwhile, Sam was on his stomach on the floor, happily drawing. The floor was littered with crayons and pieces of paper; any paper that drifted near Sam was used for drawing, and any that drifted to Dean was used for firing at the wall.

As Dean sent another ball of paper to the blotch, he noticed that Conner was not within his peripheral. He sat up, looked around and eventually found Conner backed up into the farthest corner of the room and hugging his legs.

"Are you still freaked out about the birds?" Dean asked him.

Conner's eyes were wide when he looked up. "I'm not… freaked out." he squeaked. And it was evident that 'freaked out' was a new phrase for him.

"Then why haven't you left that spot for over an hour?" replied Dean, crossing his arms. When Conner simply blinked at him, Dean added, "Come on, draw with Sammy over here."

At that, Conner's gaze wandered over to Sam's latest scribbling, only later to return to Dean with a head-tilt.

"It's either that or be my moving target for practice." said Dean, already aiming his slingshot at him.

Judging by the cringe Conner made, it got a decent effect out of him. Gradually, he unfolded himself and slipped away from the shadows, mindful of his injury. When he reached Sam, he carefully sat down next to him and observed his drawing.

"Hi, Conner!" Sam greeted upon realizing that Conner was beside him.

It was barely visible, but Dean noticed Conner slightly wince at his brother's sudden perkiness. "Hello." he said quietly.

"Wanna draw?" asked Sam.

Conner stared at the crayons and papers around them like they were alien technology or something. "What shall I draw?" he inquired.

"Anything you want!" Sam declared. He snatched up his latest drawing and showed it to Conner. "I drew a snail juggling candy canes." he proudly stated.

As senseless as that was, Dean merely shook his head and said nothing. He went back to shooting paper across the room, albeit he made sure to keep a close eye on the two.

"Why?" asked Conner, wearing an extremely befuddled expression.

Sam shrugged. "I wanted to." he responded. He grabbed a few pieces of paper and a handful of crayons and gave them to Conner. "Here. You draw something."

At first, Conner seemed to be absolutely clueless on what to do next, but when Sam showed no signs of putting down the papers and crayons he was offering, Conner nervously took them into his hands and shuffled off to his own space to draw, though he remained nearby.

Conner studied his bunch of crayons for a long while before picking up the red one first. He proceeded to make a line but then Sam noticed that he was using the dull end of the crayon. He crawled over to Conner and flipped the crayon in his hand; after that, Conner resumed his drawing as if Sam never interrupted.

For ten minutes, no one spoke a word. Dean was perfecting his aim, whereas Sam and Conner were busy drawing. Occasionally, Dean would glance at what the two were drawing: presently, his brother was drawing a boat; Conner, on the other hand, was making some odd and complicated lines and squiggles that appeared eerily similar to the symbols on his dad's journal.

Dean tried to ignore it. That was just a coincidence, right? Conner did not look like he knew anything about being a hunter; he was too much of a wimp. Besides, Dean had never seen those kinds of squiggles before on dad's journal, and dad's journal had _everything_. Conner was simply doodling, that was all; maybe he had taken art lessons at Sunday school or something.

A moment later, whatever Conner was drawing was apparently too small to fit into one piece of paper, so he got another one and joined them together. And another. And another. And another. And another.

When it became clear that Conner was done, he gathered all of his papers and made his way to the door, and since he still had his sprained ankle to worry about, it was a slow process. He then started sticking the papers to the door, or at least he was trying to since he was only finding cracks on the wood to wedge the corners of the papers in.

Piqued, Sam and Dean went over to Conner to check out what he was up to.

"What's that?" asked Dean, motioning at Conner's pile of drawings on the floor.

Conner dejectedly watched as the first paper he had gotten up slip from the door and land next to his feet. "It's a warding sigil against animals." he said.

"Huh?" Sam piped up. He always had trouble understanding big words.

"I think it's a keep-out sign to birds." offered Dean, recalling the day's recent bout of weirdness.

"Oh."

Dean gave the 'warding sigil' an apathetic glance. "Shouldn't you be putting that _outside_? Where the things you're trying to keep out _are_ so they can see that?" he said.

"It can work indoors." said Conner. "At least I hope so with this substitute material." he added, holding out the red crayon.

"Okay, Conner, I don't think any birds are gonna be able to get in here, even with that sign." stated Dean.

Another paper fluttered to the ground. Sam went to the living room and returned with a roll of tape and gave it to Conner.

"Are you scared of birds?" Sam asked.

"No. I'm quite fond of them. And they're always in good relation with me and my family." said Conner as he attempted to familiarize himself with the tape.

That was the first time Conner ever mentioned something about his family that did not involve 'Heaven' or leaving him behind. "So what's with all this? And the attack a while ago?" asked Dean.

Conner looked down and firmly gripped the paper he was holding. "It's hard to explain." he mumbled.

"Well, the TV's busted so we got nothing else to listen to." said Dean.

The stare Conner directed at him was full of reluctance. "They're attracted to my energy… my Grace. I don't think they've encountered anything so pure before." he said quietly. "And when we got up to higher ground, the frequency must've been transmitted all over the area." he explained. Then a slight blush tinged his cheeks and he cast his eyes down. "But instead of treating me with mutual respect, most of them wanted to take me back to their own nest like I'm one of their lost hatchlings." he muttered.

Sam's brain had stopped working the second the number of big words became too much for him, so he was left standing there looking like his head was about to blow up. Dean, meanwhile, was struggling to contain his laughter since the only part he really understood was the one at the end.

"Guess we should've named you 'Birdbrain' then, huh?" he snickered.

Conner's ashamed look quickly turned into one of annoyance and he glared at Dean, who easily brushed it off.

"Alright, no more drawing for the rest of the day." said Dean. But he helped Conner set up his dumb warding sigil anyway.

**3:48 P.M.**

There was a miniature city in the living room, made out of old magazines, pieces of furniture, kitchenware and pillows. It was inhabited by a few Lego people and stuffed animals.

Suddenly, a dinosaur emerged from behind the sofa, and it was attached to a moving, remote-controlled car.

" _ROAR_! I'M GONNA EAT EVERY ONE OF YOU!" Dean bellowed in a big, scary voice. He held the remote for the car in his hands and made the dinosaur move forward. "ROAR! ROAR!"

Sam came running from the kitchen with a tank and a couple of plastic soldiers. "The army's gonna blow you up first!" he yelled.

The fight was on and there were a lot of (improvised) sounds of explosions and gun fires and a whole crowd of people screaming. Buildings were knocked over, civilians got squished but the dinosaur was still slowly plowing forward. Conner watched it all take place safely by the sidelines, his eyes wide with terror and excitement. They would have invited him to play but his ankle might get too worked up.

"YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO DO BETTER THAN THAT! Once ONCE I GET TO THE PIE FACTORY, NO ONE CAN STOP ME!" Dean (or the dinosaur in this case) growled. The 'pie factory' was the fridge, where the last slice of apple pie was being kept.

Dean cleared his throat, placed the remote on the sofa and brought out two action figures. "No one except Han Solo and his trusty pal Chewie!" he proclaimed, using a different, more heroic-sounding voice.

Sam stood up and stashed his airplane in his pocket for a moment. "Uhm, hold on. Who's Chewie again?" he asked.

A sigh escaped Dean's lips. "You." he answered.

"No way! You _always_ make me Chewie!" protested Sam.

"That's 'cuz you hardly get a haircut." retorted Dean.

Sam stuck his tongue out at him. "I want someone different this time!" he exclaimed.

"Should've thought of that first before you strapped Wedge to a firework." said Dean. That was _one_ New Year none of them would forget.

"That was _your_ idea!" Sam cried out.

Conner straightened a little from his seat. "Uhm, the monster is – " he began, pointing at the dinosaur that was still advancing into the city.

"Fine. I'll find a can of soda in the fridge and you can pretend it's R2-D2." said Dean, ignoring Conner.

"I wanna be Han Solo this time!" yelled Sam, stomping his foot on the floor.

Dean looked affronted, like someone suggested they all wear pink for the rest of their lives. "Dude. No frigging way. As the big brother, I get dibs on him every time." he said seriously.

"Excuse me – " said Conner shyly.

"That's not fair!" shouted Sam.

"Live with it." responded Dean.

Without warning, Sam rammed into him and the brothers started brawling on the floor.

"The innocent people are going to die!" screamed Conner worriedly.

Dean pushed his brother aside to avoid getting kicked in his arm. "Yeah, yeah, in a minute, Conner." he grunted.

" _Give me Han Solo!_ " yelled Sam.

"With that lame tackle? You're better off with Princess Leia!" Dean teased.

"Take that back, jerk!"

"Make me, bitch!"

As they continued to fight, Dean lost track of the time. At the corner of his eye, he saw Conner getting up, although he did not see where he went because Sam's elbow suddenly came into view. Dean did not know how long they were on the floor, but they both instantly froze when they heard the sound of something heavy – like a very large book – crash onto the floor.

They looked up and saw Conner in the kitchen, standing over a phonebook and a crushed car and dinosaur.

"The monster was going to the pie factory." he said innocently. "I stopped it now."

All the brothers could do was stare at Conner in shock.

Then Sam untangled himself from Dean with a huge grin on his face. "YAY! New game! New game! New game!" he declared.

**9:39 P.M.**

One snack time later, Sam and Dean were back to civilized speaking terms and Conner did not have to arm himself with the phonebook anymore. They spent the rest of the day tiring themselves out and they all decided that nine would be an appropriate bedtime (for once).

As of the moment, Conner was curled up on the sofa and the Winchesters were lying in their beds in their room.

"Hey, Dean," Sam whispered in the darkness.

It took a while for an answer to be heard. "Yeah?"

"How come there's no peanut butter fish?" asked Sam.

Dean resisted the urge to sigh. It seemed as though tonight would be one of those nights when a random thought popped into Sam's head. "What're you talking about?" he responded.

There was the sound of blankets shifting and Dean could only guess that Sam was sitting up. "Since there's a jellyfish, shouldn't there be a peanut butter fish too?" his brother went on.

"Don't know, don't care. Just go to sleep." dismissed Dean, rolling onto his back.

Rumpling blankets signified Sam going back to bed. Dean thought that that would be the end of it but he eventually heard Sam happily muttering, "Jellyfishes and peanut butter fishes would've been good friends. They'd make PB and J sandwiches all day."

Dean was about to throw a pillow at him when he heard a faint, dragging noise in the living room. That got his hunter senses kicking into gear; he spared Sam a glance and saw, with what little streetlight was coming from the window, that his brother had heard it too and his silly ramblings were dropped.

Silently, Dean reached for the knife he kept under his pillow. He put a finger to his mouth in a gesture to make Sam keep quiet, and Sam obliged by burying himself a little further in his blanket, not to hide, but to reach for the bat beside him.

They heard the noise again, closer this time. Dean raised three fingers to Sam, meaning that on the count of three, he would turn on the bedside lamp. When he reached three, Dean swiftly flipped the switch and was practically ready to leap out of bed.

Except that when he turned on the light, it was revealed that it was just Conner who was making all the noise. When Conner registered Dean's battle-ready stance, he cried out and fell onto his butt.

"Conner? What the hell are you doing up? You scared Sam." said Dean, acting cool.

Sam kicked his blanket off. "Did not!" he said indignantly.

"I… couldn't sleep." Conner timidly admitted.

Dean sheathed his knife back under his pillow and mentally cursed at the waste of adrenaline. "What's the matter?" he demanded.

Now, Conner appeared to be more hesitant than usual. "I don't know how." he murmured.

"You slept just fine for two nights." pointed out Dean.

However, as he thought about it, Conner did not really go to sleep of his own accord the previous times. During the first night, Conner was so exhausted that sleep was unavoidable. And last night, Conner was given medicine that made him drowsy. Without any of those now, sleeping in an unfamiliar place, all alone, would be harder to do.

"Maybe he needs a story." suggested Sam.

"Stories are for babies. You're not a baby, are you, Conner?" Dean asked.

Instead of getting the response he wanted, Conner merely sat on the floor, staring at Dean with large, begging puppy-dog eyes.

"I want a story too, Dean." piped up Sam, picking up on Conner's motives.

That was two-to-one. Terrific. "Alright! Everyone move to the couch." sighed Dean.

Sam giggled and made a beeline for the living room. When Dean passed by Conner at the threshold, he carried him all the way to the couch to avoid any more movement from his injured ankle… not that he cared.

"So, what story do you sissies want?" asked Dean once they were all settled.

"Something with dragons in it!" Sam instantly proclaimed, jumping a bit on the couch.

"Friendly dragons." added Conner diffidently.

"And unicorns!" exclaimed Sam.

Sissies. He was surrounded by sissies.

"Just _one_ story, got it?" said Dean, because this was already humiliating enough.

Sam and Conner nodded eagerly and inched closer to Dean.

So he told the most senseless story he could ever think of. And just for kicks, he threw in a little suspense to it to, like moments he could crouch down and then suddenly jump out simply to freak out Sam and Conner. And the horrified looks on their faces every time that happened was always priceless.

The story was supposed to be a short one, but Sam kept adding more details to it (for example, the unicorns suddenly getting jetpacks and singing rocks appearing) and Conner kept asking the most ridiculous questions (like what jetpacks were). They spent hours on that couch, although the story ultimately reached its end.

"…and so all the dragons and all the unicorns lived happily ever after, except that one really girly unicorn. She choked on her own rainbows and glitters. The end." Dean tiredly concluded.

To his immense relief, Conner and Sam were fast asleep, though they were using each other's body as their own pillow. Dean carefully extracted his brother from the sofa and carried him to his bed where he tucked him in. Once that was done, he did the same for Conner as he placed him more snugly on the sofa.

He realized that it was colder out here in the living room, and for a second, he considered transferring Conner to the bedroom instead.

Yet Dean walked back to their room alone anyway.


	6. I Was Soaring Ever Higher

**9:35 AM**

Without a working TV, Dean and Sam had to eat at the kitchen table like normal people. The only reason they ate in the living room was because they could watch something simultaneously. Now, however, the TV was broken, plus Conner was still asleep on the couch and they did not want to disturb him.

Dean wondered why Conner was always the last one to wake up, though he quickly reasoned it might be a Winchester thing. After all, they were used to getting up as early as possible no matter how late they went to bed; Conner, along with the most of the planet, did not live their lifestyle.

In spite of the fact that Conner was getting the most sleep, it struck Dean as odd that he still looked tired.

His thoughts of Conner ebbed away when he and Sam dug into their cereal. Today, they had Lucky Charms; it was not really a particular favorite, but it was the only one they had left and the rest of their food supply was not too appetizing.

For a while, the two of them ate in silence, and every other minute Dean snuck glances at the phone hoping their dad might finally call. They had not heard from him since he left and Dean was starting to feel a bit anxious again. Why was he not calling them? Was he still too busy? Did something bad happen? Maybe there were simply no phones where he was and everything was fine.

Dean did not realize that he had been staring too long at the phone until he noticed Conner stirring on the couch. After a few seconds, Conner blearily sat up and sported the messiest bed-hair ever.

"Hey, Conner." acknowledged Dean.

Sam turned to look and flashed him a milk-smeared grin. "G'mornin', Conner!" he greeted cheerfully with a mouthful of cereal.

Conner let out a yawn before he could face the direction of the kitchen. "Good morning." he calmly returned. Limbs still sluggish from sleep, Conner slowly made his way over to them, with his ankle seemingly healed already, and sat on the chair between the brothers.

"Here, saved you a bowl." said Dean, passing him a ready bowl of cereal.

There was a head-tilt as he curiously scrutinized the multicolored contents. "What is it?" Conner asked, and Dean should have known he would ask that; he was actually getting quite used to this.

"Cereal. Lucky Charms." clarified Dean.

"We're going to be lucky when we eat this?" inquired Conner.

Dean repressed the urge to sigh. "Yeah, sure, Conner." he humored.

He speculated whether Conner's obliviousness to a lot of things was because of his family and how they raised him (and since the essentially ditched him, he had a really crappy family) or because of the fountain incident that might have messed his brain up in more ways than one. Either way, Dean discovered that he liked helping Conner out, as amusing as it may be oftentimes. It was like he had another little brother, albeit one that was less annoying.

Satisfied with his answer, Conner attentively watched how Sam blissfully ate his cereal, and once he absorbed the process he began copying him. Sadly, Sam was not the best example for dining etiquette since he tended to slurp noisily, chew with his mouth open on occasion, burp after every ten or so spoonfuls of cereal, and guzzle down the leftover milk like a starved puppy. Conner did not _exactly_ mimic his brother, but he came pretty damn close.

Dean just rolled his eyes and consumed the rest of his cereal in relative peace.

Eventually, Conner copied Dean's way of eating cereal, which was sure as hell calmer and less monstrous than Sam's. Conner was about halfway done with his bowl when he suddenly stopped and looked up.

"You don't want your cereal anymore?" Sam asked.

Conner's gaze did not waver when he timorously spoke, "He's staring at me."

The Winchesters followed his line of sight and saw that the box of Lucky Charms was directly facing Conner. "The leprechaun?" ventured Sam.

Conner nodded and sank down into his seat a bit.

For Dean, it was official: Conner was the weirdest kid he had ever met. But for his sake, Dean turned the box away from him. "There. Better?" he asked. There was a whimper under the table before Conner straightened up.

Snickering, Dean was about to tease Conner regarding the whole thing when something on the box caught his eye and he brought it over for a closer look. "Huh. Would you look at that – it says there's a prize inside." he remarked.

That caused Sam to stop eating. "Really?" he asked excitedly.

"No, not really." replied Dean in a sarcastic tone. Sam pulled a bitch-face on him and made a move to grab the box, although Dean was much faster and kept it away from him. "Uh-uh. If you want the prize, you'll have to get it the old fashioned way." he said.

And so, almost immediately, another competition between them took place, or more like a war by the way things progressed. The table was soon reduced to a tiny battlefield: instead of blood, spills of milk were all over the surface; the clang of swords was replaced by the clang of spoons as they collided into the bowls; battle cries were substituted by loud crunches; and where there should be fallen bodies, there were bits of cereal littering the scene.

As this went on, Conner did his best to eat his cereal, though at one point, he abruptly stopped chewing and removed something from his mouth. "I don't think this is cereal anymore." he stated.

Sam and Dean paused in their actions and gaped at Conner, who was holding a tiny, square plastic in very colorful packaging.

"How did _you_ get the prize?" Dean protested. That was impossible; he was down to his last bowl and he got nothing but cereal in it.

Curious, Sam reached for the box and scanned the cover. "It didn't really say that the prize would be at the _bottom_ ," he said.

Disbelief flooded Dean's system but he tried to play it cool. "Whatever. It's probably gonna be something lame anyway." he commented.

Rather than be disheartened, Sam and Conner eyed the package in wide-eyed fascination. "Open it, Conner! Open it!" exclaimed Sam.

Conner obeyed and gingerly began tearing the plastic open; all the while, Dean still feigned indifference. This was, to say the least, unfair. Conner barely finished one bowl of cereal and Dean had to engulf four! How come the prize ended up with him? Regardless, his words could be right and Conner might get a boring prize, like girly stickers or letter stamps or a pencil or –

He heard Sam let out a cry of surprise, and as he and Conner finally let some space come between them, Dean saw what the prize was and felt his jaw drop.

"No way," he breathed.

"What is this?" asked Conner as he held up his prize to study it.

"That's a Batarang!" Sam declared.

"A what?"

"A Batarang." said Dean. "It's like a boomerang, 'cept it's from Batman so it's way cooler." he explained. This Batarang was smaller though, kid-sized; however, it was sturdy, decently sharp and glistened threateningly like the real thing. Conner turned out to be lucky after all.

"What am I going to do with this?" inquired Conner as he turned the Batarang over in his hands.

"You throw it at bad guys and stop 'em!" Sam responded delightedly.

Dean grunted in irritation. "Yeah, great, good for you." he said curtly. He then stood up, grabbed everyone's bowls and strode over to the sink where he started to wash them.

"Did I do something wrong?" Conner mumbled from behind.

"Dean likes Batman a lot. I think he's jealous you got the Batarang." whispered Sam.

"I _can_ hear you!" Dean yelled without looking over his shoulder. He was not jealous. He was _so not_ jealous.

There was the sound of a chair being pushed, which was then followed by Conner's shy voice less than a foot away from him. "Dean? Would you like to have this?"

Even if he chose not to turn around, he still knew that Conner was offering him the Batarang. Albeit, what he did not expect was the look Conner had on, a look that told Dean that he did not want any fighting, least of all to be involved in it. His teary-eyed expression spoke of peace and it was obvious that Conner did not want Dean hating him for this.

"Keep it. Wimps like you need it more than I do." said Dean softly, smiling a little.

He noted that Conner had the plastic wrapper in his other hand, and it was only through this angle did Dean see that there was something written on it as well. He gently took it from Conner to read what it said, and there was one part that got his attention:

' _…part of a collection! This includes Batman's belt buckle, a Batarang, a mini Bat-signal flashlight, and Batman's mask._ '

Dean nearly dropped the dishes when he finished the sentence. "Get dressed, you two. We're heading out." he said.

"Where?" inquired Sam.

"To the grocery store. I'm getting myself Batman's mask." Dean said seriously. He can handle not getting a Batarang, but he was going to make sure he would get the mask.

**10:57 AM**

The nearest grocery store was, miraculously, a big one, and if it did not have the cereal Dean was looking for, he would lose hope in all of humanity – that and he would shoplift everything else they were supposed to buy.

When they entered the building, the first thing Dean noticed were the Halloween decorations adorning every possible space, and he remembered that he and his brother still lacked a full costume. Halloween was merely three days from now and Dean would not allow letting free candy pass them by like last year. With that thought, he was more determined than ever to get that mask.

If only Sam and Conner were not slowing him down.

"This place… it's so big." said Conner in pure awe. He was gripping onto Dean's right hand

"You haven't been inside a grocery before?" asked Sam, who was holding Dean's left.

"There is nothing like this where I'm from." replied Conner.

"What do you have where you're from then?" Sam went on.

"Well… I think they're called food stalls and – What is that?" Conner pointed at something by the side.

"What?"

"That."

"That thing there?"

"No, that other thing."

"Oh, that's a ghost."

"That's a _ghost_?"

Impatience overcoming him, Dean let go of their hands and faced them. "Tell you what, why don't we go off on our own and you guys can pick anything you wanna buy," he said. He searched the place for a clock and marked the time. "We'll meet back here on this spot in thirty…" His voice trailed off when he realized that both Conner and Sam had already gone off in separate directions.

It took every fiber of Dean's being not to bitch about the situation. Besides, he came here to get the cereal and that was what he was going to do.

He grabbed the nearest cart and set off for the cereal aisle, or rather, wheeled his way to it as he rode his cart like a maniac. When he got there, he filled half his cart with the stuff, including the bottom layer, hoping that at least _one_ of the boxes had the mask. Once that was taken care of, he figured, while they were here, he might as well restock their food supply for the week, in case dad extended his hunt for a few more days.

Dean went around the entire store, carelessly dumping things into the cart like ready-to-eat sausages, chocolate chip cookies, mac 'n' cheese, canned soup, chicken nuggets, chips and soda. He still had a lot of the money he had stolen from people a couple of days ago, so buying all these food was no big deal. While he was debating on whether or not getting some real meat for when dad came home so they can finally have a decent home-cooked meal, he spotted Sam in the distance… and his brother was up to something.

"Sam, what're you doing?" Dean asked, stopping his cart beside him.

Sam was crouching at the base of a Pop-tart pyramid, a structure composed of Pop-tart boxes that measured up to seven feet tall. "I'm trying to find the cinnamon-flavored ones." he answered.

Dean gave the pyramid a quick scan and noticed that the only flavors he could see were strawberry, chocolate and the occasional blueberry. "Maybe they ran out." said Dean. "Why're you even here? You're not a big fan of Pop-tarts."

"Yeah… but I want Conner to try them since he hasn't – Dean, look! I found the cinnamon!" Dean bet he did; unfortunately, the box Sam was looking for was located at the innermost area of the bottom of the pyramid, and as his brother stuck his hand into the pile, the whole structure began to wobble precariously.

"Hey, wait, Sam! Stop!" Dean yelled, but it was too late. Less than a second later, the Pop-tart pyramid lost its balance and toppled all over them.

The brothers made a run for it, yet the avalanche was faster and completely buried them.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the store, Conner wandered over to the candy section, having had explored nearly every aisle already. Throughout his entire trip inside the grocery, there had not been a single moment when the feeling of breathless awe decreased in him.

And at the moment, in this sweet-smelling and extremely colorful little corner, his wonder was magnified tenfold. Dean had told them that they could pick whatever item they liked; even though he had seen almost every inch of the place within a short span of time, it was only now that Conner was interested in actually picking something.

But there were so many things calling for his attention, and he did not even know the name of any of them. Rectangular ones in shiny purple paper. Small, multicolored stones in transparent pouches. Long, slender treats tied with a big ribbon. Circular containers that rattled every time he shook them. How was he supposed to choose from such a wide selection?

"Psst, kid. You plan on buying something or did mommy tell you that cavities are 'bad for you'?"

Conner blinked in confusion, then hesitantly turned around to face the person who addressed him. The person was apparently a boy, who was more or less older than Dean. He was leaning against the shelf, his arms crossed, and had on a mischievous smirk that made Conner stiffen and take an awkward step back.

"C-Cavities?" repeated Conner.

The boy uncrossed his arms and leisurely walked over to him. "Yeah, people say they're bad for you, but don't listen to them. That's just their way of taking all the candy for themselves." he stated.

Conner did not know what he was talking about, although the stranger was making him nervous. He attempted to find a means of escape but the boy blocked his path as he circled him.

"Okay, what do we have here? Uncombed hair, rumpled clothes, an I-just-crapped-my-pants expression on your face… This must be your first time shopping unsupervised, huh?" the boy exclaimed joyfully.

At that, all Conner could do was nod in a clueless manner.

The boy chuckled and stopped pacing. "Congrats. You're just one step away from joining the rest of the planet in the shoplifting craze. Though, if you ask me, it never hurts to start early." he said lightheartedly.

Conner felt his brows knit in confusion at the same time his head tilted to the side.

Unaware or apathetic to his bemusement, the boy went on, "Still, if you want candy, you might as well wait for Halloween, 'cuz what's the point of stealing something that's gonna be free in a few days? Be kind to your stomach for now."

With all his ramblings, Conner did his best to piece the vital bits together: Halloween? Dean and Sam mentioned something about that on the way here. And there would be… candy? _Free_ candy?

As Conner took in this information, the playful smile on the boy's face faded and a more somber look appeared in its place. "Oh, and one more thing: while you're here, you should enjoy this small taste of freedom for as long as you can. You never know when you're going to be dragged back home." he said seriously, and for some reason, it seemed to Conner that there was more behind his words.

His thoughts were disrupted when suddenly he heard Dean and Sam's voices calling for him.

"Conner! Conner!"

"Conner? Where are you? If you're hiding from us on purpose, I'm gonna kick your ass when we find you."

In a matter of seconds, the brothers rounded the corner of the candy aisle and approached him. Dean was pushing the cart that was heavily loaded with both food and Sam leaning over at the front. Conner looked around but the boy was no longer there.

"You ready to go yet or what?" Dean asked.

Conner spent a few seconds trying to find the boy again, albeit when his search was futile, he nodded to Dean and followed the Winchesters to the exit.

"Hey, Conner? You never told us why the leprechaun on the box freaked you out," said Sam, shuffling over to the side of the cart to better talk to him.

The uneasiness from encountering the boy earlier had yet to fade so, in a way, Conner had a slightly better grasp on his emotions, or at least enough to prevent him from freezing in his steps. "I, uhm… I had a bad experience with one before." he said timidly.

Dean raised a brow and slowed their cart a bit. "Really?" he dubiously responded.

"What happened?" Sam asked eagerly.

"…he made fun of my wings… a lot." muttered Conner.

The Winchesters briefly exchanged looks. His wings? Like a costume or something?

Whatever that actually meant, all of Dean's thoughts were pulled into the sight before them: the three of them were at the very end of the grocery store, and straight ahead was a check out counter that was free of any customers. However the best part was the thing in the middle, namely thirty feet of smooth, people-less aisles that were just begging to have someone ride through them like a pro.

A grin formed on Dean's lips as he righteously took up the unspoken challenge. He grabbed Conner, dumped him into the cart with his brother and quickly wheeled them onward. At first, the speed was bearable, but then he picked up the pace and soon every shelf was zipping past them. It was as if they were riding a really fast car; Sam and Dean cried out in delight and excitement while Conner whimpered in terror.

As the check out counter neared, Dean placed both his feet down onto the floor to act as a break. Their cart still kept going a few more feet, albeit it went to a halt just before a collision was made. For a moment, all three of them were panting hard as the rush of adrenalin gradually wore off.

The cashier lady eyed them good-naturedly. "Hey, hotshot; that was one hell of a ride you had there. You enjoy tossing your brothers around like salad?" she chuckled at Dean.

That caused Dean to let go of the cart and straighten up. "Sam's my only brother." he said, pointing at Sam. "And… Conner's my friend." he added without thinking.

"Sorry, sweeties. My mistake." said the cashier lady. She began to check out their items.

Conner turned to stare at Dean with wide eyes, and as Dean stared back at him, he realized that his previous words were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those who still don't get it, I'll clear one thing for you: That boy? Who appeared in the candy section and was full of wisecracks? He's not an OC ;)


	7. Go and Play with the Thunder

**11:48 AM**

"Why'd you put so many boxes of popcorn in here?" Dean groaned as he struggled with most of their grocery bags. It was a long way back to the motel and he was regretting letting his brother have free reign over what he wanted to buy.

"Uncle Bobby said these are 'the good sort,' and the other stores we passed through all month didn't have them." replied Sam.

"You're such a picky little princess." said Dean in exasperation. He loved popcorn as much as the next guy, buy fifteen jumbo boxes were more than enough for him. "And besides, it's not like the world's gonna run outta popcorn soon," he added.

Sam rearranged the load in his hands. "Most of them's for our movie night." he said.

Right, Dean almost forgot about that. Every year, right before Halloween, they would arrange a movie marathon featuring the scariest crap they could get their hands on. The last few years had not been exactly successful, what with them being constantly on the move and sometimes being stuck in an area with no electricity, but at least they were still trying to achieve a decent one; they were getting there.

"With what TV?" Dean commented wryly.

That put a halt to Sam's cheerful steps. "Oh, right."

Dean rolled his eyes and lightly bumped his arm against Sam's back. "We'll figure something out." he said.

Sam nodded absently, and it was not until they were rounding the corner of the building did he suddenly perk up again. "Hey, Conner, you'll be with us on movie night, right?" he asked, turning around to face Conner, who was lagging behind them.

Curious, Dean turned as well. Behind his clumsy balancing of his share of grocery bags, Conner could be seen trying to figure out what 'movie night' meant. Dean was already quite familiar with Conner's expressions (not that he had much to show in the first place; he usually just had a calm, blank look on his face) and he was sure that the one he was seeing right now was his thinking-too-hard-to-the-point-that-his-brain-might-explode look.

Finally, Conner blinked and answered a somewhat uncertain. "Yes."

Not to be mean or anything, but based on all the questions Conner had asked them, there was a small part in Dean that wondered if Conner even knew what a movie was. "Gotta warn you, we might have to sneak into someone's house, or even an actual movie theater. If you can't handle that kind of pressure, now's your chance to wuss out." he remarked nevertheless.

Traces of worry seeped into Conner's features. "Uh…"

"Oh yeah, and we're gonna watch horror movies. The scariest ones we can find. So if you don't wanna pee your pants – " began Dean.

"I want to come." said Conner with quivering resolution.

Dean smirked but kept walking. "Alrighty then." he said. He chuckled a second later. "By the way, since you're borrowing _Sam's_ pants, I guess it's okay if you _do_ pee on them." he remarked.

"Hey!" Sam protested.

Dean simply rolled his eyes and continued moving. That reminded him of something: if Conner was going to stay with them longer, they were going to have to find him his own clothes. Conner was wearing some of his brother's clothes because they were virtually the same size; although, it was not like Sam had much clothes to begin with, and sooner or later Dean would have two naked kids to look after if he does not do anything about it. He shuddered at the thought.

"Conner?" he heard Sam call out. Dean turned around to find that Conner was located a considerable feet behind them, standing utterly still and seemingly mesmerized by something in the distance.

The brothers walked over to where Conner was rooted to the spot. "Conner, what is it?" Sam asked.

It took a moment for Conner to snap out of the trance he appeared to be in. "What're those?" he whispered with awe, pointing ahead of him.

Sam and Dean followed the direction he was indicating and their faces scrunched in bemusement. At the side of the building, there were a couple of those twenty five-cents mini-rides that always seemed to be present near grocery stores. One was a colorful rocket, the other was a shiny racecar and the last was a small, extremely girly merry-go-round that had a purple bunny, a pink squirrel and a blue turtle.

"They're rides." Dean answered.

Conner tilted his head at his words.

"Come on." sighed Dean, dragging Conner to the rides.

"What are they for?" Conner asked once they got there.

"You ride them. Why else are they called _rides_?" replied Dean.

The befuddled expression Conner had on only intensified. However, with the way he was looking at the rides, it reminded Dean of when Sam wanted to sit on Santa's lap in that random mall last year… except Conner was much, much quieter compared to his brother, but the barely containable excitement was there.

"Fine, you can get on _one_ of them. We're running low on quarters though so you only have one round." said Dean. He put his load of groceries down and searched his pocket for any quarters they had left. When he looked up, he was disturbed to see Conner marveling the merry-go-round of all things.

"Seriously? Out of everything, you picked the one for girls?" exclaimed Dean.

"They're pretty." muttered Conner, placing his hands on the turtle.

If Dean could gag at the moment, he would do so now. "Sam, help me out here and talk some sense – "

"They _are_ pretty." said Sam as he went beside Conner. He had his eyes on the bunny.

Right. Of course. Basically, he was looking after a pair of girls.

"I should just leave you both out here," Dean said under his breath.

Nonetheless, he put the quarter in the stupid thing as Sam and Conner climbed onto their favored animals. If this, or anything similar, ever happened again, Dean _will_ pull out his gun and shoot everything chick-related.

**8:17 PM**

It was not easy, but they finally found a good place to watch some scary movies. They were inside a rundown movie theater on the far edge of town; security sucked and there were hardly any people inside since anyone who valued hygiene would not dare set foot through the door. And the bonus was that the place was having a Halloween marathon, not to mention that the stale smell in the area was enough to hide the scent of the popcorn they smuggled in.

There was only one downside to this: Conner, apparently, was really easy to scare.

They already lost one bag of popcorn because of him, when he got so startled as the monster got out of the closet and the popcorn flew from his arms. Now, Dean and Sam were the only ones allowed to hold onto their popcorn, or more specifically, Conner was absolutely forbidden to hold even a handful of popcorn.

So far, they managed to last two movies. Sam and Dean were already beginning to lose the edge of terror and were more or less at ease. Meanwhile, Conner was practically sinking into his seat; his eyes were way too wide with fright and his grip on the cushiony material underneath him was close to ripping chunks of it off.

Dean lightly tapped him on the shoulder as the opening credits for the third movie flashed across the screen. On instinct (induced by R-rated horror movies), Conner dramatically jerked away from him.

"Does the scaredy baby wanna go home and suck on a pillow?" Dean mocked.

It took a moment for the initial shock to (slightly) wear off. "I-I don't intend to do that." replied Conner shakily.

"You sure?" laughed Dean. "You can still make it back to the motel since your pants are still dry. Just make sure to stay away from hands popping out of the ground. I hear they like grabbing really sissy kids." he teased.

Conner lowered his head and stared forlornly at his shoes, saying nothing. If it were possible, he was trying to sink further into his seat and looked even more miserable than he already was.

"Cut it out, Dean." said Sam, inching toward Conner's side to act as support.

"Sammy, don't stand up for him. He should do that himself. He's not gonna last long on his own if he never does that." scoffed Dean. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and dumped it down his mouth.

There was a somewhat tense silence after that, save for the loud sound of knives hitting a wall in the movie. About five minutes passed before Conner stiffly got up and began making his way to the aisle that barely had any floor-lights working.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean called out.

Conner, however, either did not hear him or simply refused to answer and kept walking away until the darkness of the shabby theater swallowed him up. Before he disappeared completely, Dean could have sworn Conner was heading to the exit.

A silent 'hmmph' slipped out of Dean's mouth as he turned back to the movie. Typical. Conner was still such a wimp; it was probably better that he left now instead of waiting a few more minutes to, most likely, embarrass himself (and drag Dean and Sam down with him in the process). Hanging around with Winchesters would take guts, and lots of it.

Regardless, a tight knot settled in Dean's stomach, telling him he _might_ have been a tad harsh with Conner. Dean knew his dad had been when he said the same words to him, when he stood up for Sam's little 'mistake' four months ago.

Dean reached for his bag of popcorn on his right side only to discover that it was nowhere to be found. Curious, he leaned over to try to find where it could have gone. All of a sudden, a tiny but forceful avalanche descended on his head and startled him right out of his seat. As he fell to the floor and as the downpour ended, a bag that smelled distinctly of butter fell over his face. For a moment, Dean merely lied there, controlling his breathing and figuring out what the hell just happened.

"You asked me what I was doing. I'm standing up for myself." he heard Conner say somewhere around him.

Dean wrenched the bag off him and saw Conner standing behind his seat; there was a tiny half-smile of his face that might as well be his equivalent of a smug grin. Looking down, Dean learned that Conner had used his bag of popcorn for his little act of revenge.

"I'm not a scaredy baby." declared Conner. Sam giggled in delight in his seat.

With what amount of dignity that was unmarred by the stunt, Dean sat up and wiped the smears of butter and salt off his face. "Well, if your legs aren't jelly yet, I'll race you to the front seats." he challenged, smiling.

He threw a handful of popcorn at Conner as a distraction before another word was said. Dean got to his feet while Conner was still recovering and hurried to the screen, where some monster with a really wicked set of teeth was about to munch on a hapless group of people. Less than a heartbeat later, he could hear Conner catching up to him.

Maybe there was hope for the guy after all.

**2:01 AM**

A roaring boom of thunder tore Dean out of his sleep and sent his heart racing furiously. He looked out the window and was greeted by the sight of a massive storm hammering down on the parking lot. The sun had not risen yet and he wondered what time it was, except when he sought out the digital clock on the nightstand, he could not see the blinking red glow of numbers anywhere. Dean reached for the switch of the lamp, but when he pressed the button down, the light bulb failed to come to life.

The power was out. This hardly came as a surprise.

"Sammy?" Dean called out. He heard a small noise beyond him, though with the magnitude of the storm, he was unsure if it came from his brother.

Dean swung his legs out of the bed at the same time lightning flashed outside and briefly illuminated the whole room. As the place lit up, Dean caught a glance of Sam on the other side of the room, awake and clutching his pillow.

"You okay?" asked Dean as he approached his bed.

"Yeah," said Sam.

Even with the lack of lighting, he could clearly see that Sam was a bit uneasy about the storm. He was putting on a brave face and Dean appreciated the effort.

"Come on, the kitchen's quieter." said Dean. After he rummaged around for his flashlight and turned it on, he wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders and slowly led them out of the bedroom; Sam still had his pillow in his hand.

Thunder and lightning seemed to be coming more and more frequently, and every time they struck, Dean's grip on Sam tightened a little in reassurance. Dean kept their path to the kitchen lit with his flashlight, all the while doing his best not to make his hand shake, because if a single tremble made its way to his fingers, the light would betray his nervousness and he did not need Sam being more on edge.

It was when they were halfway into the kitchen did Sam break the silence between them. "What about Conner?" he asked.

Conner. Dean could not believe he almost forgot about him; he did not even glance at the couch when they passed by.

"You alright being on your own for a bit?" inquired Dean as he made Sam settle down in the corner next to the sink.

"Mm-hm." replied Sam, hugging his pillow and setting his mouth into a thin line of determination. Dean lightly thumped his shoulder in parting before he got up and went to the living room.

"Conner?" Dean shone his flashlight to the couch, although all he found were a bunch of pillows scattered across the seats. He went through them yet Conner was not there.

"Dude, where are you?" he called out. Dean directed his flashlight to the rest of the living room: under the coffee table, near the broken TV, the shelves, the thresholds that led to the bedroom and bathroom… nothing. Conner was missing.

Just as panic was digging its way into Dean's chest, a powerful surge of lightning erupted, which was followed by a horrendous growl of thunder. Dean dropped his flashlight in shock and it rolled away to the left side of the couch. He berated himself for being so easily spooked out a second later; he was supposed to be better than this. What would dad say if he saw him so off-guard? Dean would not be able to help him with his work in the future like this.

He bent down to pick up the flashlight, and as he did so, he noticed a set of toes peeping out from behind the couch. Dean crawled forward and he had to bite back a sigh of relief when he laid eyes on Conner's huddled, blanket-enshrouded form.

Albeit, his good mood trickled away as the muffled sound of whimpering reached his ears. Also, if Dean listened carefully enough, he could pick up words in between the moans and the gibberish, words like 'smiting' and 'punishment' and 'heaven' and 'brother'. Dean thought he might have heard a name – Ralphie or something like that – and another word 'arch'-something. The rain was making it difficult for Dean to hear anything.

"Hey, what're you doing down here?" asked Dean in the most nonthreatening tone he could muster.

At the sound of his voice, Conner gave a start and forced his body to stiffen. Very gradually, he peered up at Dean with too-wide eyes and a much paler complexion.

"You scared?" Dean went on. "Is this about the movies?"

Conner hid his face under the blanket and sniffed. "No." he murmured feebly.

"Conner," began Dean.

"It's not!" Conner yelled. His eyes appeared underneath the edge of the blanket, and despite the fact that they were apprehensive and a tad out of focus, there was a sense of fierceness around them… and pain.

Conner returned to being curled up like a ball. Inching closer, Dean heard Conner muttering under his breath, and every once in a while, he could make out a few phrases:

'…brother please…'

'…hurt me…'

'…don't punish me…'

'…so sorry…'

'…mean to disobey…'

'…your powers… storm…'

'…be angry…'

Dean was uncertain of what to make of this, though from what he could tell, Conner's brother was mad at him for some reason and he wanted to punish him too. Conner had done something bad but he did not mean to do it in the first place. And the part about the storm… maybe the storm reminded Conner of his brother and now he was scared and/or traumatized out of his senses.

"You can't stay here all night." said Dean calmly. "Come on, it's not as noisy in the kitchen, and Sammy's already there." he added.

Conner peeked out of the blanket and scanned the area, then went back to hiding under it when lightning flashed outside again. All Dean could do was let out an aggravated sigh; the world just _had_ to dump him with a kid who had a lot of issues. And whenever someone had a bucketful of crap to deal with, the only solution that really ever worked involved – Dean shuddered at the thought – chick-flick moments. A part of him wanted to let Conner stay here just so he could avoid those… but his stupid conscience refused to leave him in peace.

"Take my hand." said Dean, and he could practically hear the crack being made on his dignity.

This got Conner's head to emerge from his blanket though. "What?" he meekly responded.

It took every ounce of Dean's self-control not to hit something. "Take. My damn. Hand. I don't like this any more than you do, so let's get this over with." he said as he stretched his arm further.

Conner looked nervously at his hand, then at Dean. Lightning and thunder filled the dark skies, and for a second, Dean's mind went back to that first night when they met.

"I promise I won't let go 'til you're safe." added Dean.

He did not know how long they were crouched there, but eventually Conner's hand appeared from the blankets – and Dean noted that it was the same hand he had cut all those nights ago – and settled into Dean's warm palm.

Dean guided Conner to the kitchen using the same protectiveness he displayed with his brother. Conner still had his blanket wrapped around him as an added comfort and Dean saw no reason for him to tell Conner to leave it behind. Thankfully, they reached Sam without Conner having another panic attack.

"Conner!" exclaimed Sam, happy to see him. Conner curled up on the floor immediately and Sam snuggled up next to him when he saw his severe anxiety.

Dean soon joined them and used Conner's blanket to keep the three of them warm. The noise of the storm was definitely not as harsh compared to the other parts of the motel room, but it was still threatening enough for Sam and Conner to cling onto each other. Dean had an urge to check if they had any snacks that would calm their nerves, although he doubted leaving these two again would be a good idea.

"I don't like storms." whined Conner, so softly his words almost went unheard. One of his hands was gripping onto Dean's sleeve now.

"Join the club." Dean snorted.

Sam shifted in his place and stared at the nearest window. "It doesn't sound like it's gonna stop soon." he remarked.

For all their sakes, Dean chose to keep silent rather than agree with his brother; if he said Sam was right, Conner and Sam would be more miserable. They sat in the dark corner for what felt like years, none of them relaxed enough to attain the luxury of sleep.

If the night continued like this, Dean could only imagine how they would function when daylight came. They cannot just sit here all night cowering at the storm.

Then, Dean had an idea.

" _Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better…_ " he sang. " _Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better._ "

It was his mother's lullaby to him, and under the circumstances, Dean could not think of a better way to ease their fretfulness. As he sang, Sam joined in soon enough, and as they were on the ' _nah nah nah_ ' part, Dean could hear Conner offering his voice as well.

Ever so slowly, the uneasiness left their hearts and the storm outside grew quieter. They sang Hey Jude until the rain stopped pouring, and by sunrise they were fast asleep on top of each other.


	8. Heaven is Overrated

**7:42 AM**

Because they slept in the kitchen, it was only logical that they ate breakfast in the bedroom. Orange juice spills and cookie crumbs were unavoidable, especially since Sam stumbled upon their dad's deck of cards which, in turn, started an intense game of Go Fish.

Naturally, the rest of the cookies turned into the winning pile. It took a while for Conner to understand the mechanics of the game, but once that was accomplished, there was nothing stopping them now.

"Anyone got seven?" Dean asked, trying to sound as professional as his dad did when he and some of his hunter friends had a poker night. Of course, Dean was supposed to be 'asleep' that time; he definitely did not watch their games for four hours through the crack in the bedroom doorway.

"Nope." said Sam. He was doing his best to keep a straight face but he kept smiling and chuckling when he did not have to hand over any of his cards.

Conner simply looked up from his hand, shook his head impassively, then returned to scrutinizing his cards. Dean sighed and got a card from the middle pile. It was a two.

"Uhm… eight! You guys have eight?" asked Sam a little too enthusiastically.

Dean, rather grudgingly, handed his brother an eight card, and Sam took it with a giggle. As expected, Sam had completed all the eights and laid them out in front of him. He got the first point for this round. Next, he asked for a ten, but no one had it.

When it came to Conner's turn, he stared at his hand for almost a full minute until he piped up, "…Do any of you possess a five?"

The brothers gave him a five each, and as they game went on, the atmosphere of silent concentration hardly ever wavered. Dean briefly wondered what dad would think if he saw them now, although his attention quickly shifted back to his cards when he realized he just needed a six and he would win the game.

"Six?" he ventured. For a moment, neither Sam nor Conner moved, then the latter slowly took a six out of his hand and presented it to Dean.

At that, Dean swiftly jumped to his feet and let out a victorious cry. " _Yes_! Dean Winchester's having an early birthday!" he declared, and somehow he managed to do a little dance while drawing the pile of cookies toward him.

"No bragging!" complained Sam rather petulantly.

"What? I deserve to brag. After all, my last birthday wasn't exactly that awesome." said Dean.

"I said I was sorry when I sat on your cake!" remarked Sam.

Dean crossed his arms and raised a brow at him. "Sammy, that was double-chocolate with extra icing. You can't expect anyone to be fine with just 'sorry'." he pointed out.

"But you got mine run over!" his brother countered.

"I forgot I put it by the road!" said Dean, throwing his hands around.

Sam sighed and leaned back further against his bed. "At least we still got to eat yours." he muttered.

"Yeah, sure, I've always wanted to have a flat, butt-flavored cake." commented Dean with a snort. The room was quiet for about ten seconds, before Dean and Sam erupted with laughter at the pathetic ridiculousness of their birthdays this year. It was true that those were not the best birthdays ever in history, but they were definitely one of the most unique.

Once their mirth subsided, Dean turned to Conner, who had been watching them curiously all this time. "What about you, Conner? Any weird birthday accidents?" he asked.

"I don't have one." Conner replied expressionlessly.

"Wow, you're lucky. If you had to put up with – " started Dean.

"No, I mean… I don't have a birthday, that's why I don't have any accidents." said Conner.

The Winchester brothers spared questioning glances at each other. That was a weird thing to say, even for Conner. "What do you mean you don't have a birthday?" inquired Dean.

"I don't have one." answered Conner.

Sam immediately leaned forward into an awkward position, and if he had moved just a few inches more, his face would have fallen to the floor. "You're never _born_?" he exclaimed.

"Of course he's born, stupid! How else is he here?" snapped Dean.

For all their agitation, Conner seemed unaffected and looked at them like he did not comprehend why they were making such a big deal out of this. "I was simply created by my Father." he said, and Dean could not believe how calmly he responded.

"So you _do_ have a birthday." commented Sam.

"I was created, not born." said Conner.

Dean ran a hand down his face in frustration. "This is going nowhere. Fine, when were you _created_?" he asked, figuring he may as well go with whatever Conner was saying to get some real answers.

"Very long ago."

"Could you be specific? Like what month?"

"Months haven't been invented at that time."

A part of Dean wondered if Conner was doing this only to annoy him, but the innocence upon his features was as clear as the sharp blue eyes that stood out of the paleness of his face. "Okay, here's something easy: how old are you?" asked Dean.

Conner tore his gaze from Dean's and studied his fingers, ticking off one digit at a time as if he was trying to count. Dean was no math whiz, but he was fairly certain that Conner had gone up to at least thirty.

"… I can't count that far yet." said Conner after a while.

Before Dean had the chance to interrogate him again, Sam went in between them and practically shoved Dean out of the way. "So you don't _ever_ get to celebrate your birthday?" he asked in an appalled manner. "Or… 'create'-day?" he added.

"It's not necessary for us. Service and purpose are more important than taking note of our age." said Conner. He sounded like a grown-up when he said those words, and Dean did not like it.

Sam, however, did not seem to be aware of that and was more focused on the gigantic tragedy of not celebrating a birthday. His and Dean's birthdays were not all that spectacular, but at least they made an effort to push through with them. They only had a few things to look forward to and be happy about in their life that was constantly on the go, so they took every opportunity they could get to feel like normal kids. To hear that someone like Conner lived in a family that rejected birthdays was like killing a puppy because it was too awesome.

"Don't you wanna have presents? And people singing you the happy birthday song? And do whatever you want for a whole day? And a super special cake with your name on it? And, and, and – " Dean placed his hand over Sam's mouth before he ran out of air from talking too much.

"Alright, I think you've made your point. Conner probably came from one of those nut-job families who don't believe in birthdays and everything fun in the world. It's not his fault." said Dean.

When Dean let go of his brother, Sam threw Conner one of his saddest faces. "You could've gotten a lot of presents by now." he remarked dejectedly, as if it were physically possible for a person to feel the pain of another who did not get anything for their birthday, even though one of them did not appear to care. Regardless, Sam tightly hugged Conner in extreme sympathy and Dean just rolled his eyes at them; frankly, he would not be surprised if Sam started crying.

"What happens in a birthday, aside from what you've said?" asked Conner unexpectedly.

Sam grinned and went on a long explanation of how every birthday should be (although the information he got was mostly based on cartoons). The more Sam rambled on about balloons and music and confetti, the more Conner's eyes grew in fascination.

"… and then you get to make a wish when you blow the candles!" Sam concluded.

Conner tipped his head to the side. "A wish?" he echoed.

"Uh-huh. But you shouldn't tell your wish to anyone, 'cuz if you do then it won't come true." said Sam.

With so much information to take in, Conner sat back and stared at his fuzzy socks. "I see now why you like birthdays so much. It's… nice." he quietly remarked.

Dean did not miss that sense of longing in his tone. And that was what pushed him to make a very important decision.

"Hey, Conner," he announced. "How'd you like to have your first birthday party?"

He was met with two shocked faces, albeit Sam recovered sooner and had a silly grin on his face.

"I don't understand." said Conner.

"You will. Come on, Sam; help me get him out the door!" Dean ordered. Together, they hauled up a dumbstruck Conner and proceeded to half-drag half-carry him to the door with much enthusiasm.

"We're gonna make this day Conner's birthday?" Sam asked eagerly.

"I guess, yeah." replied Dean. Because Conner was officially the weirdest, lamest, most naïve kid on the planet and Dean refused not to do anything about that.

"Does this mean Conner gets to have all those cookies you've won?" added Sam.

That halted Dean in his tracks. He was on the verge of saying that there was no way in hell he would let his hard-earned cookies slip away like that. Then he looked down and saw Conner staring up at him and, he was not sure if he was doing it on purpose or not, but Conner was giving him the puppy dog eyes and they were actually more devastating than Sam's. This was not fair; Sam had obviously given him lessons in 'The Ways of the Annoying Little Brother'.

Dean sighed. "Just this once, okay?" he grumbled.

**8:27 AM**

Luckily, Dean had found a great place to celebrate Conner's birthday. He saw the picture in a newspaper a couple of days ago and the event looked very promising. Initially, he was supposed to keep it a secret until Halloween came so he can surprise his brother and his friend, but this was an emergency.

All throughout their walk, Conner was situated in the middle of the brothers since, having a bandana over his eyes, they had to prevent him from wandering off somewhere or tripping over a rock. Fortunately, Conner's ankle appeared to be completely healed already… which was weird since it should have at least taken a day or two more to recover.

"Why do I have to wear this blindfold?" asked Conner.

"To keep your surprise a surprise." said Dean.

"Dean, you've ruined it! He knows it's a surprise now!" exclaimed Sam.

"He doesn't know _what_ surprise it is, do you?" Dean inquired Conner.

Conner shifted a bit nervously in their hold. "This is very unsettling." he murmured.

"Quit whining. We're almost there." said Dean. He can hear the lively music now, drifting in the air like the tunes wanted to be heard even up to the clouds. For the slightest of moments, he wondered if anyone up there – maybe angels (if they were actually real) – could hear it. He dismissed the idea barely a second later and thought about burgers and monster trucks instead; angels were for sissies and he was unquestionably _not_ a sissy.

When they were just ten feet away, Dean patted Conner a little too hard on his back that he nearly toppled forward. "And take off the blindfold!" he declared.

Conner did so, and a small gasp made its way out of his mouth when he saw the sight before him. Streamers of red, orange and yellow hung overhead and stretched out across the whole area; they were so numerous that they almost blocked the sky and created a sort of fluttering ceiling. Food stalls abundant in treats and game booths brimming with every thinkable stuffed animal populated the land as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the outline of a mini Ferris wheel could be made out and the sound of a mini rollercoaster could be heard clanking and rattling proudly. There were extravagantly colorful performers in every other corner, making confetti come out of their sleeves or swallowing flaming swords or dancing like there was no tomorrow. And there were so much people everywhere that anyone could get lost in an instant.

"What…?" Conner began.

"It's a town fair, for Halloween. It's got games and food and rides and dorky shows every two hours." said Dean, marveling in the fact that he discovered this for them. "If you're gonna have your first birthday, might as well do it here."

Utterly mesmerized, Conner's eyes went over every inch of the place, drinking in the details like he had trouble believing this was real. Dean could not distinctly make out the expression on his face; it showed signs of awe and fear, giddiness and incredulity, gratitude and unworthiness. Frankly, this was the only time they saw Conner so emotional.

"I… I don't know what to do." admitted Conner timidly.

"That's what we're for." chuckled Dean.

As if on cue, Sam squealed excitedly and started pulling Dean and Conner to a particular direction. " _Pony rides!_ " he shouted.

They entered the town fair.

**8:56 AM**

There was only one pony available so all three of them decided to ride it together. The first few rounds went fine; the pony kept at a steady rhythm and was not bothered by their combined weight.

Then Dean started singing.

" _I'm a cowboy_!"

"Dean, stop it! You're scaring the pony!" Sam yelled out. Their pony was now going in clumsy zigzags.

" _On a steel horse I ride!_ " continued Dean.

The pony wobbled and Sam almost fell off. "Dean, this isn't funny – !"

" _I'm wanted!_ " interrupted Dean.

"Conner, tell him to stop!" pleaded Sam.

The pony nearly walked into the fence.

"Take it away, Conner!" shouted Dean.

" _Dead or alive_." Conner joined in.

Sam looked over his shoulder and stared at them in shock as they sang in unison.

" _Dead or alive! Dead or alive!"_

One day, Sam will wonder how Conner knew the words. But for the moment, both he and the pony wished the ride would stop already.

**9:49 AM**

They were walking along the section of the game booths and the colorful, fluffy stuffed animals on display were so many that Sam and Conner kept moving at a distractedly sluggish pace. While they stared in utter fascination at the toys, Dean, meanwhile, was grumbling at in front.

"Well, that ring toss was a bust." he groused.

Sam tore his gaze off the impressive prizes. "Your aiming sucks." he remarked.

"Does not! The bottles are just really bouncy, that's all. It's gotta be rigged." said Dean, glaring at the booths beside him as if they, too, might be rigged.

"So how come I won a yoyo?" Sam asked proudly. He fished a shiny yoyo out of his pocket and held it up to Dean's face.

Dean was about to give out a surly reply when his attention purposefully shifted. "Hey, darts! That's more up my alley." he said in a slightly more upbeat tone.

They headed for another booth; this time, the objective was to pop the balloons on the wall with a dart. Dean was given ten darts, so he had ten chances to hit a balloon. He thought it would be a simple enough task; after all, he was used to shooting guns, so how hard could this possibly be?

After nine failed shots, Dean eventually managed to pop one balloon.

"Ha! Got one!" he proclaimed.

He expected the guy at the booth to give him a prize, but all he said was, "Sorry, kid. You need to hit ten so you can win a prize."

"Are you serious?" exclaimed Dean angrily.

"Perhaps if you held your arm a little straighter and concentrated on where you will aim – " began Conner.

"Alright, smart guy; _you_ give it a shot. If you get all ten, I'll give up pie for a week." said Dean challengingly, presenting Conner with the darts in a way that practically dared him to do better.

Conner regarded the sharpness of the darts apprehensively but took them into his hand anyway. For a minute, Conner merely stared at the wall of balloons like he was trying really hard to decipher some ancient language.

Then he threw the darts… and got to hit a flawless ten.

As Sam joyously clapped at Conner's win, all Dean could do was let his mouth drop in shock.

"I'm sorry, Dean." said Conner sincerely as the man awarded him with a huge orange monkey.

Dean just wanted to kick himself. Next time, he should choose better words to bet on.

**12:38 PM**

At the gigantic bouncy castle, Dean felt his mood lifting. It did not matter that the place was full of kids jumping around and crashing into each other like idiots; what mattered to Dean was that Conner was pretty much having a miserable time inside. He reminded him of an awkward, panicked cat that gripped onto the nearest surface for dear life because the world appeared to be coming to an end. This was the closest thing to revenge Dean would ever get for the pie thing.

"Conner, come on!" encouraged Sam, hopping along.

Conner stared at him like he was being ordered to run off a cliff.

To agitate him even further, Dean bounced around Conner, shook him up and tossed him about with every movement.

"The point is to jump, not lie down!" teased Dean.

"The ground is too unstable!" Conner whimpered.

Dean rolled his eyes. Scanning the area, he noticed that Sam was on the other side, and that sparked an idea. Dean jumped more energetically around Conner until his friend's grip came loose and he bounced helplessly to the middle like a ball that accidentally fell off the table.

"Come on, here we go!" said Dean mischievously.

Once Dean had called his brother over, they started a game of catch… with Conner as the ball. They passed him around using jumps and leaps and Conner could not do anything except squeal in terror.

Eventually, there was a miscalculation in the jumps and Conner came hurtling toward Dean with the force of a car. The two of them collided and rolled to the other end of the castle in a tangle of limbs. When they recovered, Conner was situated on top of Dean and Dean was basically hugging Conner in an instinctive effort to protect his friend from any blows. Their position reminded Dean way too much of chick-flick moments.

"I think that's enough bouncing for today." moaned Dean.

**2:16 PM**

"I can't believe you made us eat a ton of food before we got in line." griped Sam.

They were in line for the mini-rollercoaster, and while it was three times shorter than a typical rollercoaster, it was still the best ride in the fair.

"It looked like the people weren't moving for hours so I thought we'd grab a bite first." said Dean. And by 'a bite,' he meant four caramelized apples, two turkey drumsticks, three scoops of mashed potato and a cup of juice, for each of them.

"You made us eat too much on purpose." said Conner.

The gate opened and, all of a sudden, it was their turn. "Okay, yeah, maybe a little." admitted Dean as they got into their seats. "It's a challenge! If you can't hold it down on this ride – It's not even that scary! Only babies will throw up on this thing." he said. "You guys aren't scared, right?"

"No." came Sam and Conner's reply at the same time.

When the ride ended, all three of them threw up.

**4:17 PM**

To help their stomachs settle, they decided to watch a couple of the performers in the center of the town fair.

"What are they doing?" Conner asked bemusedly.

"They're dancing." answered Dean.

"This seems to be far from dancing." said Conner.

Dean merely shrugged and returned to watching the hip-hop group pull off some stunts. They were in freestyle now, so a bunch of people were spinning around on their heads, crawling like huge worms and doing every version of flip they could accomplish. Dean can understand why Conner did not think they were dancing; they were actually freaking Dean out already, but of course he would never say that out loud.

" _Dean! Help!_ "

Both Dean and Conner perked up in attention as they tried to locate Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean called out. They wove their way through the crowd, pushing people aside and accessing every gap they could find. Worry pulsed through Dean's veins in fear for his brother's safety. Was he hurt? Did he get stuck somewhere? Was someone beating him up? Did he get lost?

"Get them away from me!" Sam cried out.

When Sam was in their sights, Dean's anxiety dwindled to exasperation and all he and Conner could do was watch the scene with scrunched brows.

"Not again." sighed Dean.

Conner tilted his head and scrutinized the gaudily dressed people surrounding Sam. "What are those… things?" he inquired.

"Clowns. Sam's worse nightmare." said Dean.

The clowns were laughing as one of them produced a rubber chicken and another got a water pistol out. Sam was backing away slowly from them and was desperately searching for an exit; however, the clowns had him trapped and seemed to take pleasure in isolating one freaked out kid.

"How come he is upset by them?" asked Conner.

"I dunno. They're just some guys in goofy costumes, and all they ever do is make fun of you." commented Dean.

"That's unfortunate." replied Conner, although he did not sound too concerned.

They both watched Sam being tormented by the clowns, if making confetti rain and honking obnoxious horns could be counted as 'torment'. Sam certainly was terrified of whatever they did.

"Should we help him?" asked Conner.

Dean eyed the situation very carefully. "Give him five minutes, see what happens." he said nonchalantly. He brought a leftover bag of popcorn from his pocket and offered it to Conner. "Popcorn?"

**5:15 PM**

They found themselves in the area where the thrift stores and garage sales were, and Dean figured it was about time they started finding a present for Conner. Of course, they had to keep Conner occupied and away from them for a few minutes. Luckily, all they had to do was pull him in front of a lava lamp and let him stare at it until they were done. There was a bit of uncertainty on why Conner was looking at the thing so intensely, whether it was because they told him to, or because he was actually getting hypnotized by it. Either way, Dean hoped they would not take long; that lava lamp was so freaky it could liquefy someone's brain.

"You find anything yet?" Dean asked his brother as they scrounged the back of the stall.

When he did not get an answer, Dean called out again. "Sam?"

Still nothing. He glanced sideways and noted the bitch-face Sam had on. "Don't be such a drama queen! The clowns left you alone eventually." he remarked.

"No thanks to you." moped Sam.

Dean snorted, pretending to inspect a chipped mug. "You needed to man up. I won't always be around to save your girly butt." he said. A couple of seconds later, Dean noticed the double meaning of his words and dropped the teasing attitude.

At the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam's expression soften and his shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he muttered.

The silence between them lasted for nearly five minutes, and each of them desperately tried not to think about the future that will be inevitable for them. Their raggedy family would not be together forever, dad showed them that.

"Hey, what about this?" asked Sam, lifting an object for Dean to see.

"That's a plastic skunk." said Dean.

"So?"

"Conner's first birthday gift is gonna be a plastic skunk?" he pointed out.

Sam checked the skunk in various angles before putting it down and searching the pile again. "…Plastic armadillo?" he ventured.

Dean shot him a 'you're kidding, right?' glare.

His brother returned to perusing the assortment of random items. "Uhm… this thing?" he inquired, holding up an object that was a cross between a fluffy piece of paper and a jumbled ball of wires.

"You can't give him that!" exclaimed Dean.

Sam crossed his arms, clearly upset that Dean rejected his good find. "Why not?" he demanded.

"For one thing, it's pink. And for another thing, it's a _used_ chew toy!" said Dean.

Immediately, Sam threw it to the side.

Dean shook his head and kept rummaging around for anything remotely interesting. There were old t-shirts, patched-up bags, dented bits of metal, stiff and yellowing books and a bunch of toasters. None of them were awesome enough to be a present.

Then something shiny caught Dean's attention. It was metallic, but its color was more along the lines of copper instead of the standard gray, and unlike all the other metal objects he had seen in the stall, this thing did not seem to have any dents or speckles of rust on it. There were bumps designed all over its lower half, and two horizontal stalks that sort of looked like sci-fi ray-guns were jutting out of its upper half. Dean picked up the toy (because what else could it be?) and inspected it.

"This looks cool." he said.

Sam went beside him and considered the thing he held in his hands. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean kept examining it and discovered that it had wheels at the bottom. "I think it's a robot." he surmised.

That caused Sam to inch closer to him. "What does it do?"

Honestly, Dean had no clue. He continued to inspect the robot in an effort to find out more about it, but the more he studied the thing, the more his head hurt. "Robot stuff, duh!" he answered instead.

As he fiddled more with it, he must have eventually pushed a button or activated a switch because the robot was suddenly on. Its dome-like head was rotating, its stalks were twitching about and its wheels were moving. Dean experimentally put it on the floor to see what it would do.

* _Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!_ * said the robot in a weird, tinny voice.

"What's 'esternimate' mean?" Sam asked, pronouncing the word with difficulty.

"I heard dad say it once, and he was talking about getting rid of rats." said Dean.

"So this robot gets rid of rats?" wondered Sam.

"Maybe – _Ow_!" Dean was cut off when the robot suddenly rammed at his leg, and its stalk hurt!

Dean backed away from the robot, yet it kept following him; it poked his shins, ran over his foot and almost made him trip more than once. "Cut it out!" he screamed at it.

It went for Sam this time and gave him the same annoying treatment. "It won't stop!" he shouted.

The robot was now relentlessly attacking both of them and they had no choice but to retreat. As if the situation could not get any worse, the robot fired a plastic dart at a dangerously high tower of plates. The pile frighteningly teetered to and fro, and when it was apparent that the plates would fall over the brothers, Dean let out a loud "RUN!"

They scrambled toward the exit without looking back, albeit just before they went out they dragged an oblivious Conner along with them. They kept running even long after the sound of the crash echoed all around the area.

**6:52 PM**

Somehow, Sam managed to convince all of them to go see a puppet show, and while he had crawled all the way to the front row, Dean and Conner chose to stay at the very back.

"Do you know where my sheep has gone?" squeaked the tiny puppet. It was performing exaggerated 'finding' motions across its little theater, and yet it failed to acknowledge the sheep-puppet on the other side.

"How can he not see that his sheep is just three feet behind him?" Conner asked Dean.

"'Cuz he's stupid." said Dean.

The puppet was going hysterical now. "My poor, poor sheep! Where, oh where, did my beloved sheep go?" it squealed. Then it tried to blindly find the sheep again.

"This is infuriating." muttered Conner.

"Sam said he wanted to see a puppet show. This is his only chance." said Dean. He glanced at the small stage again and resisted the urge to hurl a soda bottle at the puppet. "As crappy as it is." he added in a lower voice.

Dean looked around them, noticing that the audience, kids and adults alike, were getting pretty bored of the play. He did not blame them; the story had been going downhill ever since the sheep got out of the pen.

"Wish these things were more exciting." Dean murmured.

Conner turned to give Dean a strange expression, like he was thinking about something and was deciding on what he should do about it. Then, a small smile crept up his lips. "I'll be right back." he said.

Barely a heartbeat later, Conner disappeared into the bustling crowds and the stalls blinking with lights. Dean huffed and focused on supervising Sam rather than pay attention to the show; Conner had better not ditch them.

Five minutes went by. Just when Dean had an urge to look for Conner in case he had gotten lost, his attention was tugged to the puppet show when he heard the audience gasp and whisper excitedly.

Upon turning, Dean saw that the cause of the commotion was a sheep – a living, breathing, smelly sheep – and that it had wandered into the tiny theater. The puppet really started to panic when the sheep made a move to nibble at its head. The audience laughed, the first great uproar throughout the whole show. Suddenly, more sheep entered the theater, all wanting to eat the puppet. One of the sheep got lucky and ripped the puppet right off, revealing the hand, plus the man, that controlled it. The sheep continued to cram the theater and threatened to bury the man in a sea of wool. The audience was now giving the spectacle a standing ovation; even Dean had gotten caught up in the unexpected event and cheered alongside the rest of the people.

As his laughter subsided, Dean saw that Conner was standing beside him. He did not even notice him approaching, and he was usually good at things like that. But then he saw that subtle, self-satisfied grin Conner had on and realization dawned on Dean.

"Did you…? _How_ did you…?" he tried to ask.

Conner did his best to pull a more modest expression, though he was unable to do it. "I am certain he won't have any difficulty in finding sheep now." he said.

It was at that moment, as Dean fell to the ground in a laughing heap, that he was absolutely proud to call Conner his friend.

**9:03 PM**

The mini Ferris wheel ended up being the last thing on their agenda, albeit it proved to be good choice. By the time they would go up, the view below would be a spectacular image of twinkling orange lights in an inky black landscape. They had even hoarded loads of dessert with them – slices of chocolate pie, peach and mango tarts and orange-flavored cotton candy – to eat when they reached the very top of the Ferris wheel.

"You're not supposed to have pie for a week, remember?" chastised Sam as Dean was an inch away from taking a bite off a pie.

Dean gradually put the pie away and pretended that he had been going for his tarts the whole time. "I got tarts. That's different." he said.

They hurried into their passenger car even before it completely reached the ground. Sam was giggling with anticipation and Dean had to restrain him from skittering too much because he was upsetting the car. At least Conner was behaving in his seat; the most movement he made was when he put his orange monkey aside so he could munch on his cotton candy.

The Ferris wheel moved and carried them higher and higher until the stars appeared to be a stone throw's distance. Sam instantly marveled at the sight, opting to lean over the edge to be as close as he could to the sky flecked with light. Conner stayed still and simply took in the grand scenery with a calm appreciation, as if he was accustomed to seeing the stars at this proximity but he had yet to grow tired of view.

Dean wished he was having a nice time like the others. He thought he could handle it after he had survived the rollercoaster, he thought he would be able to get his uneasiness under control; however, he was proven wrong. He still hated the feeling of slowly soaring in the air, gaining altitude, remaining so long up in the sky that they may never come down…

"Dean, are you alright?" asked Conner, interrupting his thoughts.

Dean realized only now how stiff he had gotten in the last few minutes and how close he was to curling into a ball in the corner. "I'm fine." he muttered, tension clear in his voice.

Overhearing their conversation, Sam turned around. "You like you're about to throw up." he commented.

"These tarts taste like socks." lied Dean. Thankfully, for his sake, Sam bought it and returned to admiring the view.

Conner, in a rare moment, proved to be less gullible. His eyes were a sharp, fathomless blue and it felt like they were piercing right into Dean's being with all the care and determination of an avid reader delicately turning one page after another. There was something about his gaze that vaguely reminded Dean of feathers or dandelion seeds fluttering in a bright summer sky and drifting into a house, ordinary things with a hint of magic unnoticeably making their way inside a guarded domain.

"You're afraid of flying." whispered Conner. Dean could tell it was meant to be a question, and yet it came out as a statement.

He said he was afraid of flying; not of heights, of the ride suddenly breaking down or anything else. Conner said he was afraid of _flying_ , and how Conner managed to acquire to exact word put Dean in an even tenser and more defensive state. Dean was so angry and embarrassed that he did not even bother to ask how Conner figured it out.

"If you tell Sam, I'll kill you… even if it _is_ your birthday." threatened Dean in a hushed tone.

"I won't tell him." promised Conner. And Dean believed him.

Dean forced himself to relax, although no matter what he did, he could not shake off the lingering fear every time he caught so much as a glimpse of the blackness of the evening. So he was startled when he felt Conner sit right beside him, abolishing all the rules of personal space.

"Thank you for my first birthday celebration." said Conner.

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, trying to act cool despite the circumstances. Regardless, as much of a chick-flick moment as this was, Dean could feel himself relaxing at the warm weight Conner was providing, anchoring him to some semblance of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, that robot was a toy Dalek. I'm a huge fan of Doctor Who (and I regret nothing by inserting that tidbit there XD). If you don't know what a Dalek is, I suggest you either look it up or, even better, watch the series! :D


	9. Hear the Stars' Ovation

**10:18 PM**

From the threshold that led to the kitchen, Dean snuck a glance into the living room and sought out their target. As he expected, an oblivious Conner was situated on the sofa and was preparing to go to sleep. Dean chuckled and signaled for his brother behind him to switch off all the lights in their motel room.

Once darkness fell, they heard Conner yelp in confusion (or was it surprise?) and that urged the brothers to step out of the kitchen with their loads held proudly in front of them. A pair of flashlights lit Sam and Dean's way and also announced their presence to Conner as they approached him. From there, the two of them started to sing.

" _Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!_ "

In Dean's possession were his and Sam's presents, both wrapped in newspapers with a bit of crayon design to make the covers look a little fancier. Meanwhile, Sam had with him a blue cupcake that had a tall, burning candle on top.

The instant the song ended, Conner was, yet again, wearing perhaps the most bemused expression in the universe.

"We tried getting you a real cake, but we blew most of our cash at the town fair." admitted Dean.

"So we got you the closest thing we can find: a _cup_ cake!" Sam yelled out happily, placing the cupcake on Conner's lap.

Conner sat on the sofa completely dumbfounded. He stared at the cupcake, then at the brothers, then back at the cupcake as if everything would all add up eventually.

"Well, don't just sit there. Make a wish and blow the damn candle already!" said Dean.

A couple of seconds passed and comprehension finally drifted into Conner's eyes. If Dean focused hard enough, he could see his friend's mind trying to remember all the things Sam had told him about birthdays. When Conner's face brightened, just a tiny smile manifesting out of the shadows, Dean assumed that Conner realized at last that this sort of thing was (somewhat) normal during birthdays and went along with the festivities.

Conner leaned into his cupcake, thought about his wish for a moment and blew out the candle. Next to Dean, Sam suddenly began clapping and cheering like an ecstatic seal.

"Yay! Present time! Present time!" he exclaimed. He wrenched his gift under Dean's arm and sat beside Conner on the sofa. "Open mine first!" he said excitedly as he practically shoved the bundle of newspapers into Conner's arms.

Gradually, Conner did so. Once the object was out in the open, he cautiously turned it over and over in his hands, inspecting its every angle and striving to decipher its purpose.

"What is this?" asked Conner.

"It's a glow-stick!" replied Sam. He bent the glow-stick until a snapping noise was heard. When he returned it to Conner, a soft blue light materialized within the stick, which soon intensified into a more vivid hue that could almost be mistaken for a strip of the sky at twilight. "It's only good for one night, but that's what makes it extra special! Do you like it?" Sam eagerly inquired.

"I do, I like it very much. Thank you, Sam." said Conner, completely awestruck. Blue cupcake, blue glow-stick… Dean would never really know why they settled for blue being Conner's color. Maybe it was his eyes that made them decide, or maybe it was because blue was cool and calm, much like Conner.

Sam half-hugged half-tackled Conner in response, and the cupcake nearly tumbled to the floor. "Your turn, Dean!" he said.

Compared to his brother's shiny gift, Dean was regretting his rather lame gift for Conner but, clearly, it was too late to change anything now, so they just had to deal with it. "Here," said Dean, basically tossing his gift at Conner.

As the last piece of newspaper fell away, a worn cardboard box the size of an apple was revealed. Conner and Sam looked at it curiously for some time, until Conner eventually had the idea of taking the lid off. Inside the box was an assortment of colorful band-aids, long ones with rocket ships and stars, short ones that had tigers in jungles, ones at normal length with smiley faces…

Dean felt himself blush in embarrassment, although he hoped the darkness of the room was sufficient to conceal the faint red in his cheeks. "I dunno, you're a total wuss when it comes to most things. So I thought… if you get hurt or anything and you're all by yourself, you, uh… you got these." he awkwardly explained to Conner. He unintentionally glanced at Conner's hand, the one he had cut on their first meeting, and discovered that the band-aid was still there.

To be honest, Dean expected Sam to start laughing at him for being such a girl, and Conner to say that he hated the gift. But his brother was in fact smirking fondly at him, and the way Conner stared into the box was like he had received something warmer than the warmest hug in the world.

"Thank you, Dean." said Conner quietly. He sounded sad and happy at the same time, and Dean wondered how that was even possible.

Then it was the same when Conner smiled a few seconds later, or tried to. It was a sad and happy smile, and Dean did not fail to note his friend gripping his orange monkey – the thing he won at the fair – tightly, holding onto it as if he needed the toy to stay… or he needed an anchor to prevent himself from drifting away.

"You're both so kind to me. I am nothing but a stranger to you, and yet over the last few days, you've treated me with so much benevolence. You've given me food, shelter, clothes… I feel like I'm not worthy of your compassion." said Conner softly.

His head was bowed and his eyes were locked on the cupcake balancing on his knees, though Dean knew better. This was someone who wanted to look anywhere else except at the people he was talking to. Dean was all too familiar with this because he had performed the same thing in front of his dad a couple of instances, when things had been bad and times had been greatly desolate. What usually happened next would involve tears trickling down without the person's notice, but Dean was not going to allow that.

"Okay, first of all, you're not a stranger. You're Conner, or at least that's how you want it to be." began Dean, his voice strong and serious enough to make Conner look up. "You're a friend. And I don't know how things work in your family, but for us, we look after the people we care about, so don't say you don't deserve anything good."

Conner stared at him in pure shock, like he felt he probably did not deserve those words either. It was at that moment Dean realized how truly messed up his friend was. This, more than anything, showed him that Conner had lived a harsh life before they met him; not only did his family abandon him, but it seemed that they taught him not to expect genuine acceptance by others.

Right now, Conner's tense shoulders finally slumped down, sort of like an apology and relief all rolled into one gesture. Damn it, why did he have to appear so miserable no matter what he was doing?

"I'm not supposed to yell out 'group hug!' right?" muttered Sam, breaking the tension that had cultivated in the air.

Dean gave him an eye-roll. "You're such a girl." he sighed.

His brother threw him a cheeky grin and even Conner let out the slightest chuckle; Dean was glad that things were going back to normal.

"How old would Conner be?" asked Sam, letting them switch to another topic.

Good question. Dean assessed Conner's form very carefully, and when Conner realized he was being scrutinized, his posture went ramrod straight, like what a soldier would do when he wanted to look presentable in front of his commanding officer.

"Since he hasn't given us a direct answer, we'll have to figure it out ourselves." said Dean.

"Is that allowed?" Sam inquired.

Dean shrugged. "We gave him a birthday. We sure as hell can give him an age." he stated. Age was a serious thing, because the older a person was, the more power and authority they had, especially over those younger than them. Dean studied Conner for a while. "What do you think, Sammy? You want another guy who's older than you or do _you_ wanna be the older one for a change?" he asked.

"That one! I wanna be older." replied Sam giddily.

Upon hearing those words, Conner turned to Sam with a mixed expression of incredulity and dismay. "…But I've been alive for far longer than you." he sniveled.

"Says you. We're the ones who got you a birthday, so it's our job to take care of the rest of the details." stated Dean. He placed his hand under his chin and studied his friend with the same level of meticulousness he used whenever he would help his dad with the hunting. "Hmm… if you're gonna be the youngest here, Sam's gonna be the boss of you too, and that sucks. Still, it kinda fits your profile. I mean, you barely know how things work half of the time." said Dean, chuckling.

Conner bit his lower lip in shame. Dean had to admit that Conner being bossed around by his brother was amusing, which was easy to imagine given Conner's degree of naivety. Sam often showed that he had a weird five-year-old brain and he would most likely get Conner to do the most ridiculous of things, such as help him paint bunnies on the walls or, even worse, convince Conner to side with him on every topic all the time. That was just a catastrophe waiting to happen. Besides, Conner seemed to be older than four, that much was sure.

"But you _do_ know some stuff, especially really big words. And you're not as whiny as Sam." continued Dean, and Sam stuck his tongue out at him.

In spite of Conner's cluelessness at times, he frequently behaved like he was older, much older than he should be, as if he had grown up too fast in certain areas. For starters, he never acted carelessly; Dean had seen a lot of kids on the road and he had seen them all being reckless or happy-go-lucky or just plain stupid at least once. Conner was too… well-behaved. Of course, he would indulge in a bit of mischief now and then, but only when he was prompted to by others (which meant Dean and Sam), never on his own accord. The way he spoke sometimes made him sound like an adult, and whenever he was staring at something, Dean had the slight inkling that there was more going on in Conner's head, like he understood matters far more than any of them ever could.

Dean cleared his throat when he noted that he had not said anything in a while. "I can't make you older than me, 'cuz _I'm_ the oldest and that means _I'm_ in charge of everything." he laughed. He was _nine_ after all, merely one year short of achieving double digits. There was definitely no way he was going to make Conner older.

Dean considered the matter more thoroughly, pacing back and forth along the length of the couch. Sam and Conner watched in anxiety, similar to an audience awaiting the decision of the judge.

Simultaneously, Dean stopped moving and snapped his fingers victoriously. "I got it! You can be the middle guy; younger than me but older than Sam. That way, all's fair and everybody can be happy." he concluded. The lack of an objection after five seconds signified that both of them were fine with it.

"So Conner would be…" Sam held up his fingers and performed math that was a tad mind-numbing for him. "…seven?"

Dean nodded. "Yep." he agreed, then turned to Conner. "How's seven for you?" he asked.

The considerable amount of seconds that passed meant Conner mulled it over. "Seven is one of the holiest numbers in creation," he commented.

That was close enough to be a positive remark. "Great. He likes it. Congrats, Conner; you've just turned seven." said Dean, patting Conner on the shoulder.

With that settled, Dean plopped down onto the couch as a reward on a job well done. They were tired, yet not desperate enough to crave sleep. The three of them talked for a few minutes, just talked; it was actually quite nice to simply bask in each other's presence and not do anything else. They talked about the highlights of the day, debated which hotdog stand had the weirdest choice in relish, and enumerated to Conner the many uses of a glow-stick, which led to a lot of Star Wars references, which then led to each brother explaining what Star Wars was about, and that led to disagreements, and the disagreements led to intense rounds of rock-paper-scissors. Conner watched the heated matches with fascination, and the part that really made him into a captivated spectator was the fact that he was munching on his cupcake the whole time – a snack _and_ a show.

By the time Dean and Sam ultimately settled for a tie, it was already late and the three of them were ready to hit the sack. The brothers got off the sofa and Conner fixed up his makeshift bed.

"Night, Conner!" Sam called out over his shoulder as he went to their bedroom.

"Goodnight." returned Conner.

Dean cleaned up the place a bit before following Sam to bed. While he was checking on the doors and windows, he saw that it was raining outside, not as mightily as last night, but it was still considered horrible weather. Thankfully, after waiting for a minute or so, there were not any thunder and lightning tonight.

He was on his way to the bedroom when he thought he should take a final glance at Conner: his friend had already tucked himself in and he was cuddling his orange monkey like the big sissy that he was. The blue light under the blanket meant that he was holding onto his glow-stick too, and the bump just below it indicated that the cardboard box was nearby as well.

In addition, Dean saw how wrapped up Conner actually was in his blanket, to the point that less than half his head was seen. He appeared so small like that, so vulnerable… and the rain making the living room chilly was not helping the picture either.

"You know, it's kinda cold out here." said Dean with hardly a second thought. "Why don't you sleep in our room tonight? 'Cuz it's your birthday and all." he added nonchalantly.

Conner opened his eyes and slowly sat up. "Really?" he asked.

"Just for tonight." affirmed Dean, shrugging. "I mean, if you don't wanna, that's fine and – "

"No, I want to." said Conner, and he still somehow managed to sound a tad nervous.

Dean smirked. "Alright, come on." he said. Conner gathered his stuff and went with Dean.

It was a single-bed, so two kids sleeping on it would be a little too snug for Dean's liking, but it was Conner and it was his birthday, and anyway, Dean offered it in the first place so he was in no position to complain. And it was not like he expected Conner to steal their valuables and run off, or do anything else that was unforgivable. Dean trusted him, enough to let him into their room where the silver blades, guns and 'monstrous' souvenirs were hidden.

As they put Conner's things on one side and Dean's on the other, their loud rustling woke Sam up and made him curious about what was going on.

"What's Conner doing here?" he asked groggily. "Is he having trouble sleeping?" he added upon noticing the rain.

"He's sleeping in our room tonight." said Dean.

That caused Sam to grin and he kicked his blanket off him. "Conner sandwich!" he proclaimed.

Dean sighed, and he was about to _firmly_ announce that they will not be doing anything remotely similar to a slumber party when he learned that Sam and Conner were already dragging Sam's bed to the other end of the room to join with Dean's bed. Dean, of course, could simply tell them to push the bed back, albeit they were currently a quarter of the way there and returning it would be such a waste of effort. In the end, Dean helped put the beds together, making it explicitly clear that this was only for tonight.

Once the beds were beside each other, the three of them could not wait to get under the covers. Conner was in between Dean and Sam, and judging by Sam's repressed giggles and his feet squirming everywhere, it was obvious that he was excited by the novelty of the situation. Sure, he and Dean had spent some nights in one bed before (sometimes in even more cramped places), but it had always merely been the two of them; now they were three in the same room and their lives were a little less lonely.

"It's so warm here." murmured Conner, and Dean felt slightly guilty for not thinking of inviting Conner to their room sooner.

"Can we have a pillow fight?" inquired Sam optimistically.

"Not now." groaned Dean.

There was a shift throughout the beds as Conner probably turned to face Sam. "What's a pillow fight?" he asked.

"It's one of the funnest things ever! You gotta – "

" _Guys._ Go to sleep. It's been a long day." Dean interrupted. They had all been severely exhausted when they came through the door, and their workout with the bed generally used up their last drops of energy. Or at least Dean was convinced that he could not move another inch even if he wanted to; Sam and Conner seemed to have a bit more in them.

"Okay." said Sam after a while, and his tone told Dean that he had a bitch-face on.

Two minutes of silence went by and Dean was close to falling asleep…

"What're we doing tomorrow?" asked Sam.

"Sam," started Dean, aggravated.

"We're doing something tomorrow?" Conner joined in.

"Let's do something!" declared Sam as he bounced a little.

"Shut up. No one's doing anything until we wake up after nine." growled Dean. He forcefully turned to the wall, like if he just faced another direction, he can block out any unnecessary noise.

Another minute or so of quiet.

"But it's _ten_ right now." Sam pointed out, playfully exploiting a loophole that should not even _be_ a loophole.

"Sammy – " warned Dean.

"And we are awake," added Conner.

This was the last straw. Dean hastily sat up and glared at the two of them. "That's it! You guys want a pillow fight? Fine. If you don't go to sleep, I'll knock you both out!" he yelled.

The cozy atmosphere gave way to the feeling of a brutal battleground in less than two seconds.


	10. Stars Cry the Blackest Tears

**?**

_He was in a field, where the long stalks of grass had the same color as butter-cream and the way they swayed in a non-existent wind was eerily similar to a cookie batter being stirred counterclockwise. It would have been a peaceful, delightfully inviting sight if it was not for the fact that everything else around him was enveloped by shadows._

_As Dean continued to stare at his environment, he received the notion that he was actually deep inside a beast, right in its belly, because the darkness was shifting and churning, sort of like how a stomach would digest food. The beast must have thought the field looked delicious, and swallowed Dean along with it._

_He had to find some place safe; he did not want to be digested. Dean searched the field for a hole that might lead somewhere, a couple of stones that he could equip himself with, or even an insect he could follow to safety, but he saw nothing useful. Finally, his eyes landed on a house in the distance. Having no other choice, he hurriedly set off for it._

_Every time he took a step, the grass crunched strangely under his feet, and the sound reminded him of crackers being broken. The darkness was beginning to shift faster, as if the beast knew Dean was trying to get away and urged itself to digest at a quicker rate. Dean ran, putting more pressure into his legs even as they start to hurt. It felt like hours before the house was within his reach, and once he was near it he discovered it was really a barn, abandoned and dilapidated._

_Dean scrambled inside, relieved it was unlocked, and shut the doors behind him. The echo of wood and metal slamming together resounded throughout the entire space, lasting far longer than it should. The moment the noise died, Dean allowed himself to turn around, his back to the door, and sank to the ground to catch his breath._

_Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, and he later realized that he was not alone inside the barn. Dean cursed himself for his stupidity. How could he forget to check the perimeters? What if that other person had already made a move to kill him and he was totally oblivious?_

_Getting into a defensive stance, Dean carefully studied his company: the good news was that the other person had his back to him, so there was a chance that he was unaware of Dean's presence. It was either that or the person knew he was behind him and was simply fooling him into a false sense of security. Dean waited a bit longer but the person was not moving._

_A quick scan of the barn revealed to Dean that the place was utterly empty, save for the two of them. No stacks of hay, no animals, no farm tools, no heavy machinery, zilch. However, what seriously caught his attention were the sigils painted on the walls, ceiling and floor. He recognized a handful of them as the ones his dad used to hunt monsters, and that discovery put him on edge. Was the person on the opposite end of the barn the monster?_

_Dean knew he cannot just stand around and do nothing. If he wanted answers, he had to interrogate the other person._

_He slowly approached the figure, who still had not moved an inch after all this time, and for a second Dean wondered if this was merely a statue. When he was halfway there, he began to notice more details about the person. The short, messy dark hair told him it was a male, and his height was that of a boy's, just a little younger than him. He was wearing a beige coat (a trench coat?) that was slightly too big for him, black slacks and shiny black shoes that would impress any elementary school teacher._

_When Dean was less than ten feet away, he saw that there was a sort of light encasing the boy, light coming from above. As he got closer, he could detect the crisp scent of air just before rain would start, could feel he exhilarating coolness of being on top of a mountain; for some reason, a sense of awe was filling his mind._

_Then Dean suddenly distinguished the shape in front of him. "Conner?" he called out._

_Conner turned to face him. Under the trench coat, he was wearing the same blue tie and white shirt he had on when Dean first saw him that stormy night, although this time Conner appeared to be wearing a black jacket or blazer as well, matching his pants and shoes. He looked too much like an adult in those clothes._

_The instant their gazes met, the ground began to rumble viciously. Dean's balance was immediately thrown off and he crashed to the floor. Somehow, Conner remained unaffected by the earthquake as he stood perfectly still in his spot. In fact, he seemed dazed; his face was an emotionless mask that told Dean that he was not even conscious of what was happening. As the shudders worsened, the light surrounding Conner was intensifying tremendously, to the point that it was almost blinding._

_Dean shielded his eyes and tried to reach out for Conner, but the earthquake was so strong that he was being carried off to the edge of the barn no matter how desperately he attempted to stand up._

" _Conner!" he yelled._

_Conner blinked, and the detached façade melted and gave way to concern. "Dean?"_

_Conner reached a hand out to him; however, the shaft of light he was in was already overwhelmingly bright and he was starting to vanish in the whiteness. A second before he was completely engulfed, a moment before the brightness spread throughout the whole barn, Dean caught a glimpse of wings at Conner's back…_

**7:03 AM**

Dean woke up with his eyes cruelly snapping open and his heart banging in his ribcage. He could not remember what he had been dreaming about, but whatever it was, the dream had been intense enough to wake him into a shock.

As he adjusted his brain to the real world, he felt a warm weight on his left side. He lifted the blankets and found a sleeping Conner cuddled up next to him. The orange monkey he had snuggled with the night before was off to the side, as if his friend had unconsciously traded it away for something much preferable. His unkempt hair was under Dean's chin; the upper half of his head was resting on a pillow and the lower half was on Dean's chest. One of Conner's arms was partially draped across Dean's midsection, while the other was on Dean's left shoulder.

It was one of the most disgustingly chick-flick moments in his life and Dean had to summon all his self-control to keep himself from screaming and shoving Conner off him.

Despite the awkward predicament, feelings of contentment and protectiveness washed over Dean. A few days ago, Conner had been lost, scared and shivering alone in the rain. Now here he was, safe in bed, warm in his borrowed clothes and as protected from the unforgiving reality as him and Sam. Conner still looked as vulnerable as a kitten, albeit it comforted Dean to know that he was being watched over.

"Deeeeeaaan, come outside!" beckoned Sam, his voice coming from the foot of the bed.

Dean could not believe he forgot to check on his brother. From the sound of things, Sam had been awake for quite some time already, and had ventured outdoors for a while. Careful of Conner's dozing weight, Dean got up to see what Sam was so thrilled about.

Apparently, Sam was covered head-to-toe in mud.

"Holy – !" Dean barely stopped himself from swearing. "What the hell happened to you?" he exclaimed.

"I saw mud puddles so I went outside." said Sam, smiling and rocking on the balls of his feet as if all was well in the world. "They're really nice and squishy and fun to jump around in!"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Take a bath now." he said.

At that, Sam crossed his arms and made an affronted bitch-face. "No!" he said.

"Sam," started Dean.

"Don't wanna!"

Their shouting had risen and, consequentially, Conner woke up and sluggishly rolled off Dean with a displeased moan.

Dean resisted the urge to say 'Great, now you woke him up!' at Sam, though instead used the opportunity to sit up straighter since Conner was not weighing him down anymore. "Stop being such a drama queen and take a stupid bath." he said steadfastly.

Sam did not seem any less determined regarding his opinion on the matter; his bitch-face appeared to be settling permanently on his face, similar to how cement would dry on a sidewalk. Without warning, Sam marched over to the side of the bed, leaving a trail of mud in his wake, and locked his eyes on Conner, who was still a tad groggy and ignorant to the situation. Then, Sam placed his mud-caked hands on Conner's face and neck, smearing the muck all over his skin.

"Hey!" yelled Dean.

A smug, challenging smile manifested on Sam's lips. "There. Now _two_ of us are dirty." he stated.

"What was that for?" demanded Dean, gesturing at Conner who currently looked so confused his head could explode at any second.

"Two against one." said Sam.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Conner anxiously.

Dean sighed and shook his head; he wished his dad was here so he would not have to deal with this. "I'm throwing you two in the tub." he said.

When he uttered that last word, Sam made a dash for the door, but Dean was ready for him and caught his brother by the arm in an instant. Conner was much more willing to cooperate as Dean only had to lead him forward by the shoulder.

"You can't do this!" screamed Sam, struggling in his grip.

"Uh, yeah, I can." said Dean, mustering every drop of big-brother authority he possessed. "Now, strip down to your undies."

**8:14 AM**

It was an accident when Dean discovered that Sam had no clean clothes left (although, he had to admit, that was definitely one of the most hilarious accidents he ever chanced upon, much to Sam's dismay). With the kind of lifestyle they led, it was a rule that they travel light whenever possible; in addition, they seldom had the occasion to buy new clothes, primarily because most of their money went to food, weapons and medical supplies, and it did not help that they never really put a lot of effort into stopping by at 'domestic' shops either. Furthermore, with Conner borrowing half of Sam's already too limited garments, his brother's supply diminished quicker.

So while Dean had to wash their dirty clothes in the laundry room, Sam and Conner had no choice but to wait… in their underwear. Dean had laughed at the two of them the entire way as they ventured into the motel's laundry room, and throughout that time, Sam sported a gigantic pout and Conner his usual bemused expression. Of course, Dean was not _that_ ruthless as to let them wander outside in just their underwear; he made them take the blankets from their room to fend off the nippy autumn air. The last thing he needed on his plate was for one or both of them to catch pneumonia or something.

Presently, Dean was watching their laundry tumble around in a washing machine, bored at its non-exciting movements yet vigilant for any potential thieves. Sam and Conner had went to explore the tiny laundry room, partly because they wanted to find a warmer spot (Sam's butt was getting numb from the cold, which was seriously funny), and partly in the name of curiosity.

It was a bit of a relief that they were the only people here, which saved Sam and Conner the humiliation of being witnessed in their lack of clothes. There were four washing machines in the room – two washing machines in a row, back to back – and three of them were tossing and turning the clothes of the other motel guests, which meant that their owners will come back some time soon, so Dean had to make sure that they leave before someone walked in to pick up their laundry.

Dean let his thoughts drift to what their breakfast would be, if there was a place they could go to entertain themselves today, how many more days he had to endure before he was allowed to consume pie again… Then Dean's brows quirked at a particular notion: had Conner ever used the bathroom before?

Now, Dean was all for skipping baths every once in a while, but after all the vigorous things they had done in the last few days, Conner never reeked, never sweated. He always looked clean, in spite of the messy hair, and just this morning when he woke up Dean caught the refreshing scent of springtime drizzle on his head. Besides that, he had not seen Conner hurry to the bathroom to relieve himself, or did he simply carry out his business in the middle of the night when he and Sam were asleep?

"What it is?" Conner's question wafted from the other end of the room.

"I think it's a funny hat. See?" There was a lot of shifting noises as Sam probably wore whatever it was they found.

Ten seconds of silence went by with, most likely, Conner's contemplation. "Maybe this is… a bed for small rodents and birds? These pouches are soft enough for them to sleep in." he proposed

Four quiet seconds went on for Sam's thinking. "What if it's a bag? It's got handles. You can carry stuff in it, like marbles."

There was a sequence of soft rustlings as the mystery object was being experimented on. The sound of limbs bumping into the washing machines echoed throughout the room, like whatever stunts the two of them were doing involved a great deal of maneuvering that was too ambitious to be confined within the cramped space of the laundry room. Dean was tempted to abandon his post and check on them, his curiosity piqued at their discovery.

"It can be a slingshot. Its sides are able to stretch out, and you can deposit your projectiles into these soft paddings." Conner eventually offered. To emphasize his point, a satisfying _snap_ was heard.

"Wow, I think it _is_ a slingshot!" said Sam, thrilled. "Wait a minute… There's some metal thingies at the back."

"That's… odd. They appear to be hooks." Dean could just imagine Conner analyzing every angle and detail of the mystery object now, not to mention the mixed look of determination and perplexity on his face. "I've never seen slingshots with hooks before."

"Maybe they came up with a new kind?" supposed Sam.

The room became quiet again; possibly more experimentation. "I fail to see the purpose of these hooks if this contraption is a slingshot." said Conner.

"So… it's not a slingshot?" inquired Sam, a little dejected.

Conner sighed. "Afraid not."

Believing the debate to be over, Dean returned his attention to the clothes spinning in front of him. A few seconds later, he discovered he could not shake the thought out of his mind. What did they find anyway? What if the 'handles' were actually 'straps'? After all, they were inside a laundry room; the things found here were clothes, and Sam did initially mistake the object to be a hat. Clothes did not have handles, so they had to be straps. What had soft paddings, hooks, straps and can stretch?

Dean's eyes widened in horror.

"Hey, hang on. I think I've got it!" declared Sam triumphantly.

"You have?" asked Conner.

"We've been holding it the wrong way!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's… one of those weird shirts."

"This is a form of clothing?"

"Sorta. Here, let me put these on you. Slip your arm there… no, no, over there. Now do it on the other side…"

It was at that second that Dean's eyeballs threatened to shoot out of their sockets and rocket straight to the next town. Dear God, Sam figured it out!

"It feels snug." observed Conner after a minute. "I like it."

And that was the last straw. Dean bolted from his spot and, as he rounded the tight corner, he hoped that his suspicions were wrong, that Conner and Sam were not in possession of what he thought they were harboring. At all. In the slightest. _Please_. Because that would be the most awkward incident in the history of awkwardness, and Dean would not be able to live with himself.

Unfortunately, 'The Most Awkward Incident In The History Of Awkwardness' was the scene that greeted him.

" _Holy crap_!" Dean shouted.

The Most Awkward Incident In The History Of Awkwardness: Conner was wearing a bra – pink and frilly and the cups just slightly smaller than his head – and Sam was helping him get it into place. The worst part about this was the fact that they were in their underwear. No, scratch that – the absolute worst part was that they acted as if there was nothing _wrong_ with the picture they were setting. Dean resisted the urge to fetch the gasoline and matches hidden in his duffel so he could light himself on fire.

Conner blinked at his arrival, innocent and impassive. "Hello, Dean." he responded.

Registering Dean's presence, Sam straightened up from where he was bent over adjusting the hooks and beamed at his brother. "Dean! We found a weird, squishy shirt! And I'm helping put it on Conner!" he happily proclaimed.

And whether Sam needed something to steady his balance as he rose to his full height, or if he was merely demonstrating the 'squishy' quality, his hand landed on one of the cups and he gave it a couple of good squeezes. Throughout that act, Conner stared down at his chest in odd fascination; no protests, no questions.

Something snapped inside Dean then, and he did not care if anybody could hear him when he screamed at the top of his lungs, " _GET THAT OFF HIM RIGHT NOW_!"

**10:09 AM**

One very long, semi-sugarcoated explanation later about 'certain girl-clothes' and how it was now forbidden for them to snoop around other people's laundry, Dean took Sam and Conner (both fully dressed in normal, _decent_ clothes) to a nearby diner for breakfast. Aside from the fact that Dean wanted to have a warmer, fresher breakfast today, he also intended for the three of them to get some distance from the motel for a while, lest another round of embarrassment befell them.

Instead of settling on a cushy booth, Sam found the stools at the counter more interesting because they were 'spinny'. However, his enthusiasm was not enough to get him onto the seats themselves since the stools were taller than him. As amusing as it was to watch Sam clamber, fall and leap at weird angles pathetically, Dean carried him to his seat before parking his butt down as well. Thankfully, Conner had a few more inches on him than Sam and managed to climb and sit on his own.

"I'll have a double-cheeseburger, a side of bacon with _extra_ bacon and a cup of coffee." said Dean to the cashier, a guy who was around eighteen or so and seemed utterly displeased with his job.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking coffee?" cashier-guy grumpily asked. He had a name-tag on but the letters had been blurred beyond recognition.

"Fine. I'll have hot chocolate." Dean acquiesced, huffing out a sigh. "What about you, Sammy?"

"Hash-brown and pancakes! Hash-brown and pancakes!" chanted Sam as he spun his chair like he owned it.

"Yeah, he'll have that. And orange juice, right?" added Dean, glancing at his little brother.

"Uh-huh!" he piped.

Dean craned his neck until he could see his friend. "Conner?" he asked.

Conner was staring at the chalkboard menu in front of him in his typical wide-eyed, clueless expression. He almost looked intimidated at the number of choices presented to him, like he feared he might pick the wrong kind of food in a manner comparable to a kid in school worrying he might select the wrong answer to a test.

"I don't know." he said.

Cashier-guy was starting to make his way to the kitchen. "He'll have the same thing as me." Dean hollered after him.

"Whatever." grunted cashier-guy. And he disappeared through the door.

Sam brusquely stopped spinning and pointed a finger at the window on their right. "Dean, they have a playground outside!" he squealed.

It was not a big playground, and it was certainly not the prettiest. The space must have been an abandoned lot before, and it would appear that it had not been properly maintained recently. The ground was cracked and covered in dying weeds, and ugly graffiti was scribbled on the enclosing wall. The plastic slide was dirty and faded, the seesaw was a scraped heap in the corner and the swing set looked so brittle and rusty that it could collapse at the slightest touch. Nonetheless, Dean and Sam had played in worse environments.

"Eat breakfast first, then you can run around like an idiot." said Dean.

Eight minutes passed and cashier-guy, now waiter-guy, came out with three plates and sloppily placed them in front of the boys. Once that was over, he retreated to the kitchen for the second time with an audible groan of discontentment. Dean shrugged and focused on his meal.

"This is…?" Conner asked, scrutinizing the greasy monstrosity on his plate.

"A burger. A _double-cheese_ burger." said Dean through mouthfuls of his own burger.

When all Conner gave him was a blank stare, Dean took a huge bite out of his burger and chewed deliberately with a smile, a tactic to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of and that he should just sink his teeth into the thing.

Conner did so, although his bite was considerably, warily smaller than Dean's. After a brief moment of chewing, Conner's eyes grew big and his hold on the burger slackened, on the verge of falling.

"What's the matter?" inquired Dean apprehensively. Had cashier-guy given him bad meat? Was there a distinct 'bug-crunch'?

Gradually, Conner swallowed his mouthful. "It's… It tastes… good." he said, amazed at his discovery.

The second his mini-heart attack dwindled, Dean let out a laugh. "Well then don't let me stop you from wolfing it down." he chuckled.

Conner nodded and proceeded to consume his breakfast with much more vigor. By the time Dean was barely halfway finished, he heard the hearty clatter of a plate and saw that Conner had already eaten his entire burger. He and Sam eyed their friend in astonishment.

"May I please have another?" asked Conner sheepishly.

The brothers exchanged glances, wondering if this was either the most awesome or the most frightening thing they learned about Conner.

Definitely the most awesome.

**11:46 AM**

As Dean promised, play time was allowed once breakfast was over, though Sam realized he could not run or roll around too much or else he would end up with an upset tummy, and maybe throw up. He did not like having an upset tummy, and he hated throwing up, especially if he had had such tasty food.

Dean stayed behind inside the diner to order take-out, so when the food came, it would be time to go back to the motel. Sam was sad that his big brother could not play outside, but luckily Conner agreed to accompany him.

At present, Sam was balancing on the dangerously rundown seesaw, pretending to be an acrobat. Once he made it across the beam without falling off, he hopped to the ground to bask in the applause of his imaginary audience, plus Conner.

…except Conner was missing. He was as apparent as the pretend-audience.

Sam glanced sideways to see if Conner had gone into the diner, yet Dean's outline was the only form he could see there. He also distinctly recalled that there was no bathroom in the diner, so Conner had to be out here in the playground.

He checked for his friend under the bits and pieces of the seesaw, thinking maybe Conner wanted to play hide-n-seek, albeit Sam did not find him. He ventured close to the thick patch of weeds that grew next to the swings and his search was fruitless again. The plastic slide remained; it was the sort that had a few cubby-holes attached to it, so perhaps Conner was in one of them.

Crouching down, Sam saw that Conner was not under the slide; that left the final cubby-hole at the very top. He cautiously scaled the ladder slick with early frost and remnants of rainwater and peered inside the little box. A smile crept up Sam's lips when his eyes landed on Conner's huddled shape; his friend was facing the exit-way that led down the slide, so his back was turned to Sam.

Nevertheless, there was something… not right with the atmosphere. Sam hunted for the source and he noticed that Conner's shoulders were quivering. As Sam pulled his whole body into the cubby-hole, he realized that Conner was hugging his legs and his face was buried in his knees.

"Conner?" Sam quietly called out. When there was no answer, Sam crawled closer. "Conner, what's wrong? Do you have a tummy ache?" he asked. After all, he had eaten a lot of burgers earlier and maybe his tummy was finally mad at him and made him hurt.

Conner still was not acknowledging him; if anything, he scrunched himself up into a much tighter ball.

This caused Sam to become very worried. He wished Dean was here, he would know what to do. But if Sam left to get his brother, Conner would be alone, and he could not let that happen a second longer. Carefully, Sam put what he hoped was an assuring, steady hand on his friend's shoulder. "Conner…"

A frail shake wracked Conner's body as a response, followed by a miserable, trembling sniff. For a while, Sam thought Conner would edge toward the slide, go down and run away from him, but he gratefully stayed in place. Nonetheless, when Conner hesitantly lifted his head and turned to Sam, the latter was appalled by how red and wet the former's eyes were. Conner's face was drenched with a steady flow of tears; his fingers were clutching at the fabric of his jacket so forcefully that his knuckles were white and seemed too brittle, not to mention that the material might actually rip.

Before he could say anything, Conner had to take control of the sobs that were now pouring out of his mouth. "I-I… I miss… m-my family." wept Conner. He placed his head back into his knees and hugged himself tighter. "I miss my h-h-home." he added, his voice muffled by his pants but totally comprehensible.

The words made Sam's mind freeze in distress and sympathy. He should have known Conner would eventually miss his family; if he was in his situation, Sam would be crying all the time until Dean or his dad found him. While Sam was used to not having his dad around everyday, he at least always had his brother with him, and that was more than enough. Conner had not seen _any_ of his family for half a week already, and Sam had to admire the fact that his friend managed to last this long. Regardless, Conner needed some comfort now, so he scooted beside him and hugged him.

"S'okay, Conner." consoled Sam. He wanted him to stop crying, because the longer Conner cried, the sadder Sam got as well for not being able to bring him to his family, since that was what would make Conner happy.

Movement from afar caught Sam's eye and he looked out to the other side of the road to find a group of people waiting at a bus stop. As he continued to stare, Sam noted they were actually a family of ten: a daddy, a mommy, three teenagers, two kids, a grandpa and two grandmas. They were all talking to and playing with one another, and the only problem Sam could pinpoint was a bit of teasing among the kids. Besides that, there was nothing wrong; they were a perfect family. Sam realized a second later that Conner must have seen them interacting together and was reminded of his own family, which brought on a heavy dose of longing.

"Do you want to talk about them?" asked Sam gently.

Conner lifted his bloodshot eyes from his legs and locked on Sam. "Who?" he sniveled.

"Your family. Dean said you have brothers." said Sam. He was also aware that they were the ones who dumped Conner in the rain a few nights ago, but if Conner missed his family that meant he cared about them, loved them dearly. Dean taught Sam that if he was missing something or someone really bad, it would help to think about them, remember all the good stuff that made them missed in the first place, so that every drop of misery would transform into excitement and anticipation for when he would encounter them again.

Dean's logic appeared to have worked since Conner wiped his eyes using the back of his hands. "Yes… and sisters." he quietly replied.

"What's that like?" probed Sam, honestly curious.

At that, Conner straightened up a tad and a thoughtful expression mingled with his grief, as if he was trying to lure the correct words through the forest of his sorrow. "There's… many of us. Very many... Very bright." he began, though his voice still cracked and trembled. "We take care of each other… teach each other… We're expected to function on our own, but we still help one another sometimes." he said.

"Like me and Dean," burst in Sam, slightly too energetic than what was appropriate. He fleetingly wondered why Conner had never really discussed his family with them before, opting to reveal as little detail as possible. It sounded like they were an interesting bunch, and the fact that they were a lot made the matter more fascinating.

Conner blinked, albeit a second afterward the barest of smiles tugged at his lips. "In a way." he agreed.

"So are you a big brother or a little brother?" Sam inquired.

"Almost all of my siblings are older than me…" said Conner pensively.

"You're a little brother! Like me!" concluded Sam, bouncing a couple of times in his cross-legged position. For Sam, it was always a pleasure to get into contact with the other little brothers of the world, since he rarely had the chance to talk to children, or nearly anyone outside his family.

"I suppose." said Conner.

Throughout their conversation, Sam noticed that Conner's cheeks were drying and that his tears only remained at the edge of his eyes by now; this was excellent progress. He decided to take it one step further and went down the slide. He waited for Conner on the ground, urging him to follow with a combination of puppy eyes and a supportive grin. An air of uncertainty manifested around Conner, which was later quelled when he gathered himself and warily descended the slide.

Sam's grin grew bigger as he helped Conner to his feet. "Do your brothers and sisters boss you around 'cuz you're younger than them?" he asked, resuming their chat. He often speculated if other little brothers had the same ordeals he had to endure.

Mild irritation that lasted for a split-second flashed on Conner's face, and that was all the proof Sam required. "Frequently." he answered.

"And they probably treat you like a baby too, huh?" Sam went on as he guided them to the swing-set.

There was a suggestion of disciplined reverence on Conner's features, like he knew he should respect those who were older than him, was trained to obey without question and was inculcated to treat their opinions as law. "It's infuriating at times." admitted Conner eventually.

And, finally, there was someone who understood Sam's torment. "Exactly! We should… We should have a club or something! The Little Brothers Club – where we can do whatever we want and not be bossed around by older brothers!" proclaimed Sam.

Conner chuckled. "And older sisters." he added.

" _And_ older sisters!" Sam affixed.

By now, they were standing at the swings and their peaceful sways to the wind were enticing, practically beckoning anybody to sit on them. Sam took the silent offer and claimed the swing on the left side; Conner gradually copied his actions and got the remaining swing on the right. Sam moved his feet to and fro, and once he received a good momentum he used his body to provide a couple of extra pushes. Soon, he was soaring high on the swing set. Although, when his gaze wandered below, he saw that Conner was striving, yet failing, to get himself airborne.

Sam skidded to a stop. "No, you gotta kick your legs back and forth. Keep doing that 'til you feel yourself get higher. That's what my dad taught me." he instructed, performing the motions with his legs at a controlled pace so Conner would understand.

It took a minute or longer, but Conner soon fathomed the rhythm and was going backward and forward. His force was not that impressive, but that could be blamed on his lingering heartache, plus the fact that he was still new at this. While Sam monitored Conner's progress, his last sentence caught up to him and a heavy, sinking feeling settled in his stomach, just barely overwhelmed by inquisitiveness.

"What about _your_ daddy and… mommy?" asked Sam quietly. He almost did not want to utter the words, because even as they left his tongue, a degree of loneliness and a kind desperation went through his core, and he imagined them as darts hitting close to the bulls-eye.

Conner immediately stopped swinging and his face became unreadable. "I have a Father." he replied. The 'no mother' part rang loud and clear in Sam's mind.

"Does he spend time with you and your brothers and your sisters?" Sam inquired, and he could not help the bit of yearning that slipped from his mouth.

A strong gust of wind blew from behind them as Conner bowed his head. "Most of us haven't even seen Him." he muttered.

"Why?" Sam blurted out.

There was that pause again, like Conner was figuring out the answer as well. "It's none of our business." he said.

"But he's your dad!" yelled Sam.

"He's often busy." said Conner.

"Busy with work?" offered Sam. If so, he had more in common with Conner than he thought.

Conner stared up at the gray clouds, and if Sam did not know any better he would say that his friend was attempting to find his dad behind the dense, puffy layers. "That's one way to put it." he murmured.

They sat in silence for a moment, neither swinging nor making an effort to get up. "I don't have a mom too. At least, not anymore." said Sam under his breath.

His confession managed to tear Conner's gaze from the sky. "What happened?" he inquired.

Sam bit his lower lip and shrugged. "Dad and Dean don't wanna talk about it." he said, and he often recalled how angry or troubled they got whenever he mentioned her. He looked down at his grubby shoes and sighed. "I don't even remember her."

There was a rusty squeak and Sam, through the corner of his vision, noticed Conner edging close to him without leaving his metal seat. "I'm sorry." he whispered.

The rock at Sam's feet suddenly looked out of place and he kicked it over to the seesaw. "Hey, Conner?"

"Hm?"

"What do you think having a mom's like?" Sam asked.

Surprised, Conner blinked at his query and tilted his head to the side. "I don't really know." he responded.

"Dean says it's nice. Moms give you kisses and hugs everyday. And they sing to you if you can't sleep." said Sam, smiling sadly. He wondered what life his family would have if his mom had not died. Would they still be traveling all the time? Would his mom go with his dad to work or would she stay at home with him and Dean? Would everyone be really happier?

"That _does_ sound nice." said Conner, and a similar extent of desire lined his voice.

Sam made a noise that was closely related to a gasp. "I'm not making you feel better anymore, am I?" he stated fretfully.

"It's alright." said Conner, giving him a half-smile that meant he appreciated everything Sam had been doing.

"Dean's getting double-cheeseburgers for takeout." Sam quickly added as a last-ditch effort to prevent his friend from crying again.

"I look forward to them." said Conner, though his tone lacked any trace of eagerness.

Sam got off his swing and hugged Conner for the second time. "We'll get you to your family soon. When dad comes back, he can help. He's good at finding stuff." he said.

The tension in Conner's shoulders slowly dissipated and he allowed his cheek to rest on Sam's hair as an act of trust. "Okay." he mumbled.

And a promise was created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The barn setting in Dean's dream may or may not be the barn where he and Cas officially meet. ;)


	11. Stars that Fill Polluted Skies

**11:55 AM**

While waiting for the take-out to arrive, Dean had been carefully monitoring Sam and Conner the minute they stepped out into the playground. Initially, the worse thing he could imagine happening to them was to fall off one of the dilapidated equipment; he did not expect this.

The slide obstructed his view, but once the two of them went down, Dean realized that Conner had been crying, and judging by Sam's close proximity to him, he was doing his best to console him. After that, hugging was involved. It was not a happy-hug; it was more like a please-don't-cry-anymore-hug.

What had the two of them been doing? Why was Conner miserable all of a sudden? Dean felt an urge to go outside so he could know what was going on, but from where he was watching, the situation looked far too fragile to handle any sort of interference. Nevertheless, he hated seeing his friend like this, he wanted to do something to help.

"You plan on joining the hug-a-thon out there, or are you good with the sappy staring?"

Dean startled at the unexpected voice, although he hid most of his surprise fairly well. He searched the diner for signs of life (because this diner was not exactly the respectable sort and, given the choice, majority of the people opted to head for some place more decent), and his eyes landed on a boy in a corner booth. He had dark blonde hair and wore a devilish smirk on his face. On the table in front of him was a towering stack of pancakes that nearly measured to the height of his head, plus the amount of syrup on them was so glisteningly thick that even Dean's stomach churned a little in unease.

"I'm not sappy." he retorted.

The boy made a dismissive _pfft_ sound. "Keep telling yourself that." he said.

Dean swiveled in his chair so he could face him directly. "How'd you get in anyway? I didn't see or hear the door open." he suspiciously noted.

"I have special privileges." said the boy, shrugging like he could not care less what Dean thought of him, and at the same time he was teasingly arrogant.

Given the vague answer, Dean narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. The boy noticed his stubbornness and was forced to set down a forkful of sickeningly sweet pancakes. "If you _must_ know, I came in through the kitchen." he replied.

"You know the people who work here or you just snuck in for free food?" asked Dean.

"Hey, pouty-lips, do I look like a riff-raff to you?" commented the boy, gesturing at himself.

"Depends. You want me to answer?" said Dean.

For a moment, it seemed as if the boy was affronted, yet his smile returned and he released a hearty chuckle. "Plucky. I like that." he said. He then swallowed a chunk of his pancakes and used the fork to point at the window. "So, bros of yours?" he inquired.

Dean was reluctant to answer. He was not stupid; he knew the dangers of conversing with someone he had never met, particularly if that meant revealing information – no matter how scarce – about people who were close to him. "Just the one. Other's a friend." he curtly answered.

The boy took another hefty bite from his pancakes and appeared to consider the taste. "Got a bro here too." he said.

Seeing how he could keep the boy talking about _his_ family instead, Dean asked, "Younger or older?"

There was a huff from the boy, albeit it was unclear whether it was because of derision or amusement. "Let's just say he's waaaay older than you." he said. He put another slice into his mouth and chewed noisily. "I swear, the guy's a pain in the butt-cheeks sometimes." he added.

At that, Dean figured he must be referring to cashier-guy, A.K.A. waiter-guy. "You're tellin' me." he commented.

"Getting messed up in someone else's business, causing trouble even if he 'didn't mean to'," the boy rambled.

"Don't forget dragging you down with him." offered Dean, because if there was a topic he could relate to the most, it would have to be dealing with brothers.

"Especially that!" the boy agreed as he sat a bit straighter in his seat. Afterward, he slumped back down again and made a half-smile. "But he's a lovable dork, so it's cool." he said.

Dean was unable to prevent himself from sparing his own brother a glance. Sam may be annoying and whiny at times, but he was still his brother and he would always be one of the most important people in his life, no matter how many instances he complained about his sissy nature, or teased him every moment he could.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the boy take out four packets of Pop Rocks from his pocket and began to season his pancakes with them. "Should you really be eating all of that?" Dean asked warily. He admired the guy's bravery, but there was such a thing as being recklessly stupid.

"Not like I have 'parental supervision' to worry about." said the boy, air-quoting. "My dad's in charge of making me behave, but since he's gone for a while, it's pranks and coma-inducing sugar rushes 24/7." he said gleefully.

Dean did not know how to react to that. All his life, Dean had been taught to obey his dad's instructions, especially when he was not around, or else something bad might happen and it would be his fault. To see a person in a similar position as he was and to realize that they chose to goof off instead unsettled a fragment of his mind.

"Yo, pouty-lips, you celebrating Halloween, right?" the boy spoke up, catching Dean unaware.

"I guess – and shut up, I don't pout!" defended Dean.

The boy blatantly ignored his protest as he licked his fingers clean of the syrup that had somehow gotten there. "Hastings Street is a goldmine for trick-or-treating! The decorations at their houses look like the crap _of_ crap – I mean it, they're so lame, you'll cry – but that's just 'cuz they spend all their money on a mother-load of candies. But stay the hell outta Jordan Street; it's full of stingy, heartless bastards who…" He shuddered. "…actually care about your _health_." he explained disdainfully.

"Why are you even telling me this?" asked Dean, an eyebrow raised. He hardly knew the guy and already he was being treated as if they were pals who could swap notes on candy pointers. On normal circumstances, he would appreciate the gesture, yet normalcy never came that much to his life.

"Just helpful advice from your friendly neighborhood random guy." chirped the boy, flashing Dean a grin and a casual salute. Then, his mirth dissipated and the happy-go-lucky shine in his eyes drained out of his features at a pace quicker than water slipping through the drain. "And make sure the kids have fun, okay?" he said seriously, jerking his head to the direction of the playground where Sam and Conner were.

Understanding reached Dean; the boy was suggesting something that might help cheer Conner up, and Dean was grateful for that. Apparently, Conner's sadness was so infectious that everybody wanted to make him feel better, even total strangers.

"Yeah, sure." replied Dean and the unmentioned _'Thanks'_ hung visibly in the air between them. The boy nodded in response.

The door to the kitchen swung open and cashier/waiter-guy stepped out carrying a bulky, grease-stained paper bag that smelled of warm buns and thick ketchup.

"Here's your take-out." he muttered, letting the paper bag plop heavily and gracelessly onto the counter next to Dean. And in his typical cheerless manner, he turned his back to him and slinked back into the kitchen, likely never to be heard from again within a short period of time.

Now that his take-out was in his possession, Dean had no real other reason to stick around the diner any longer. "Guess I'll see ya around." he said to the boy as he slipped off the stool.

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't." the boy vaguely commented.

Dean wanted to ask what he meant by that, but the boy was too engrossed with his pancakes by now to notice him, and his level of intensity was one Dean was well acquainted with. If he had a good, luscious slice of apple pie, he would be so immersed in the mere act of eating it to pay attention to anything else, too.

He let the boy be and went outside to collect his brother and his grief-stricken friend.

**12:39 PM**

Gabriel watched as Dean and Sam Winchester took his brother, Castiel, away, probably back to their dingy motel room two blocks over. At the sight of their retreating forms, Gabriel's customarily eager appetite waned and he pushed his pancakes away.

It pained Gabriel to see him like this, but he knew he cannot interfere, cannot talk to Castiel again lest his identity be uncovered; that one instance had been an extreme risk already. Of course, he could simply send Castiel back to the past, he had more than enough juice to carry that out. But this – everything that had happened to Castiel so far – was an opportunity so rare that he dared not to cut it so short. If Castiel had to return to his time, he would have to do it through the rescue squad who will eventually (or hopefully) reclaim him.

Gabriel had been keeping an eye on his brother the nanosecond his Grace dipped into this timeline. From that first encounter, Gabriel knew that this was not his brother of the present, that he had been plucked from the distant past somehow.

Castiel's unfortunate trip had been an accident, that much he could tell. His journey was comparable to a skipping stone hurled mercilessly into the ocean: the farther he got from his point of origin, the more times he skimmed and bounced off the water's surface. In this case, the water referred to the flow of time, and every instant his brother fleetingly hit it, he would find himself in a different period in history, inching closer to the future. However, the process was erratic and much too fast for a fledgling's control and comprehension. At best, Castiel could merely had been vaguely aware of a couple of time-shifts; other than that, he had no sense of navigation and everything went past him in near-oblivion.

Before long, it was possible that the vortex of time began to overwhelm him. The forces of reality ripped through Castiel's tender light and Grace like paper going through a shredder because his defenses against different timelines were not fully developed yet. With every second that sped by him, a bit of his powers were stripped away in the process, and if he had not found a vessel to contain his fraying self, Castiel would have disintegrated.

To be honest, Gabriel was relieved that his brother managed to acquire a vessel. Not only was it forbidden for fledglings to possess a mortal, it was also practically impossible for them to have enough power to subdue the consciousness of their host so that they may gain control of the body. So for Castiel to walk around in a vessel was impressive, especially since he was running low on Grace.

Gabriel learned everything he needed to know about the vessel when he cloaked the signature of his Grace, morphed his body into a child, and talked to Castiel in that grocery store. The kid's name was Jimmy Novak, aged seven, an only-child thus far. He was plucked out of the year 1982 during one of Castiel's time-dips and, consequentially went 'missing' for a while.

If Castiel was considered lucky when he landed a vessel, then he absolutely won the jackpot when his vessel was actually in his designated bloodline. It was a one-in-a-quintillion chance and Gabriel wondered if he realized exactly how fortunate he really was. He even wondered if their Father was still watching over them; this cannot be pure coincidence.

From their brief conversation in the grocery, Gabriel could hear the echoes and picture the remnants of Castiel's terror before plunging into poor Jimmy's body:

_'Please! Please… someone help me! I'm falling!'_

_Jimmy tore his head away from his math homework and stared wildly at the room, searching for the panicked voice… the voice he could understand, begging for help._

_'Who are you?_ Where _are you?'_

_'I'm falling! I don't want to fall! Don't let me fall!'_

_'I won't. I promise I'll get help! Where are you?'_

_'I'm falling…_ I'm falling! _Help me please!'_

_'Yes! Yes, I'll help you! Tell me where you are!'_

Those were the last words little Jimmy Novak uttered before a whooshing light entered him, and took him away unintentionally, because Castiel was incapable to stop until he reached 1989. The vessel merely slowed him down a tad. That single _'yes'_ had been strong enough to bond the two of them in spite of the chaotic time-travel.

Gabriel had been in Belgium when Castiel penetrated this point of time; the sole reason he returned to North America was to make sure his brother was safe. Even now, he was doing his best to keep him from being involved in any more mishaps.

From Day 1, he had been monitoring Castiel's every move (and no, that did not make him overprotective). With his depleted Grace, Castiel needed to eat and sleep in order to function; thankfully, the Winchesters took decent care of him, more or less. Gabriel silently congratulated them for the birthday thing, and that incident with the bra had been _hilarious_!

Regardless of the fun times his brother was having, his epic time-travel was not without bigger consequences. The universe had been… 'rumbling' for some reason, as if there was a disturbance in the fabric of creation.

At first, Gabriel dismissed the notion that the 'rumbling' was related to Castiel. As adorable as he was, he did not appear to be the type who will be crucial in manipulating the turn of major events one day. Gabriel searched the world for any probable causes of the 'rumbling,' but aside from the occasional demon cult prancing around in their petty social circle, there was nothing new, nothing dramatic, nothing out-of-the-ordinary from an angel's perspective… except Castiel's arrival from the past.

What really convinced him it was Castiel were the birds – not regular birds; _angels_ masquerading as birds. The seemingly random attack on Castiel on that rooftop a few days ago had technically been an attempt to drag him to the Heaven-of-this-time. Gabriel doubted they simply wished to return Castiel to his proper time. These days, security tightened upstairs and the angels acted like white blood cells wanting to eradicate every trace of whatever they believed to be unwanted, unnecessary, or unauthorized in their ranks, and Castiel fell into at least one of those categories. At least the angels still under Heaven's command had been banned to take vessels, which was a weird law that was ongoing since the last couple of centuries.

Nonetheless, Gabriel had been keeping other angels at bay ever since, all the while being careful to cover his tracks. They could not hear the 'rumbling,' they did not know how great the situation truly was. The only angels he would let near Castiel were those from his original timeline, because then Gabriel would be certain that they will take him home.

For now, Gabriel will keep Castiel hidden and will carry out (reluctant) baby-sitting duty. Back when he had still been in Heaven, he noticed that Castiel was always so tense, so scared to speak up for himself. He was like that one quiet kid in class who had a tiny corner all to himself and only two major emotions: unnaturally innocent and holy-crap-what's-up-with-you serious. Gabriel wanted him to have fun, to live a life beyond the constraints of Heaven, and he could achieve that on Earth.

After all, the universe had always been on the verge of collapse in one form or another. What harm could playing a bit of angel-hooky ever bring?

**6:23 PM**

"Conner… you okay?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Conner looked up from where he was already settling into bed, albeit his bed happened to be the couch. He did not eat dinner; he simply went straight to the couch and curled up there.

"Yes, I'm fine." he said quietly, not making eye contact.

"You don't _sound_ fine." commented Dean. When Conner did not say anything else, Dean sighed and sat down beside him. "Listen, uhm, Sammy told me that you're homesick and, well… I get it. It's okay. We'll make this right." said Dean as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had never been good with all this sentimental crap. He had to summon enough manliness to make himself sound strong, but he also had to squeeze out the right amount of gentleness to be to let Conner know that he truly cared about his situation.

"We still got a burger left over. It's in the fridge if you want it." said Dean in an effort to cheer Conner up. Ever since they left the diner, misery radiated off Conner like chill from a block of ice. That alone told Dean how much Conner missed his home and family.

Conner reached for his orange monkey plushie and hugged it to his chest. For a moment, Dean thought that his friend was using the toy as a shield against his efforts to communicate to him. "Perhaps tomorrow." muttered Conner.

"It's just there if you get hungry. I told Sam not to touch it since it's yours; you know how much of a pig he is." joked Dean.

"I don't mind if he eats it." said Conner.

Dean knew someone was really upset when they refused their favorite food, and from Conner's reaction this morning, burgers were definitely his favorite. "There's room for one more in my bed tonight… Just an offer you might be interested in." he said. He was willing to share his bed again if that meant making Conner feel less lonely.

However, Conner shook his head and drew the blankets and his orange monkey closer to him. "I wish to be alone tonight." he said, his voice quivering.

"Conner – " Dean began, shocked.

Conner covered himself up with his blanket and curled into a tight ball underneath. "Please leave me alone." he whimpered, and his voice betrayed that he was on the brink of tears.

Unwillingly, Dean backed off and hoped that his friend will feel better in the morning.

**1:14 AM**

With a shiver, Dean roused from his slumber to discover that the room was dark because the sun was still absent. He glanced at the clock and groggily deciphered that it was one in the morning, much too early to be awake and he was a bit irritated at the fact that a good night's sleep was officially ruined.

Once his mind cleared, Dean peered through the darkness of the room to seek out what woke him. He half-expected Sam standing at the edge of his bed, ready to bug him about something silly, but Dean noticed that his brother's huddled form was visible on the other bed. His eyes adjusted to the gloom afterward and he saw that there was nothing else amiss or peculiar in the room.

Then, he thought it might be Conner trying to get into his bed, possibly having had changed his mind and in want of reassuring company. Yet Dean's suspicion was proven wrong upon realizing that he was the bed's sole occupant. As Dean's grew more awake and more curious, his mind was fully functional now and it occurred to him that it was cold. Luckily, it was not the eerie kind; rather, it felt more natural, like someone had left the window open which allowed the nightly coolness of autumn to creep inside.

Dean reached for the knife under his pillow and jumped out of bed.

The windows in the bedroom were all closed; that left the ones in the living room, plus the door. Had someone gotten in? What about Conner? If an intruder indeed managed to sneak in, he was the one who would be in the most danger. But what if dad finally came back? No, it cannot be him; he strictly said that he will return in a week and not a day less. Besides, he would never leave a window or the door open for this long.

He sneaked into the living room, knife in hand, and prepared himself for anything. It was utterly silent when he got there; no sound of shifting, creaking, or breathing, except his own. Dean stood still for more than a minute but nothing moved in the slightest either. As he scanned the area, he discovered two things that made his heart stop:

The first was that the couch was empty.

The second was that the front door was left ajar.

A bad feeling welled up in Dean's core at the sight in front of him. Had Conner been taken? No, Dean distinctly remembered locking everything and applying all the necessary precautions before he went to sleep. The door could only then be opened from the inside. Did Conner go outside on his own? If so, why would he even think of doing that? Outside was freezing and dark and even sort of terrifying; any person who stepped out at this hour without a good reason – and it had to be a really serious one – was regarded to be insane.

Unless… Unless they actually do have a purpose in mind, a hugely important one, so important that any person would dare to become reckless… a purpose like finding their family.

Dean bolted out the door and strived to contain his mishmash of pleas and curses into an inaudible whisper. There was no way Conner was this stupid. There was no way he would simply get up in the middle of the night and start hitting the streets in a desperate search for his family, in his borrowed pajamas, barefoot, and totally without supplies.

"Conner?" hissed Dean under his breath. He hoped that his friend was still within the motel grounds, and that he had not been too late. A few of the lampposts had yet to turn off and Dean was grateful for the light. Though it was a meager amount, it sufficed in helping him navigate the perimeter and illuminating the nooks and crannies Conner might be in.

His search went on for roughly ten minutes, and just when Dean was ready to wake Sam for back-up, he saw a moving shadow on the ground. In front of him, there was nothing. Dean's gaze spread out madly until, finally, he pinpointed the source being on the rooftop of the motel building.

It was Conner… and he was standing alarmingly close to the ledge.

"Holy crap, _Conner_!" Dean could not have cared less if the whole neighborhood heard him. He raced up the stairs that led to the roof with such urgency that he feared the steps might shatter under all the force he was exerting on them.

The door at the top of the stairs was left slightly open, just like the door to their motel room, and Dean felt as if he was running out of time again, that the chance of him being able to remedy the situation was getting slimmer and slimmer. He barreled through the threshold and ran halfway over to his friend. Dean skidded to a halt because, now that he was here, he did not know what to expect, did not know what to do, but overall he was scared, and taking another step forward might make the reality of his fears more apparent.

"Get away from there! Conner!" yelled Dean. Conner remained motionless, showing no signs that he had heard him. "Dude, come on, this isn't funny. You could get hurt." said Dean as worry twisted his guts.

"Have to… go home…" murmured Conner distantly.

Putting his knife in his back pocket, Dean dared to approach him slowly. "You will, Conner; I promise you'll get there. Just step back, alright?" he said.

"I want… to go home now…" said Conner. A formidable wind picked up and Conner swayed along to the current with a resistance no better than that of a plant. The sight compelled Dean to take his final steps to the ledge. "I… don't belong… here…" Conner mumbled.

Dean took a closer look at him, albeit he wanted to avoid physical contact because there was no telling what something so slight can trigger. He seriously cannot afford a single risk; his friend was standing at the edge of a building and might do something unforgivably stupid at any given second.

Staring up at his face, despite the dim light, Dean noticed the hazy expression on Conner, as if he was half-asleep… or dreaming. His eyes were lidded, dull, and blank. Suddenly, the realization that Conner was sleepwalking hit Dean like a sixteen-wheeler truck. He saw this before with Sam once, a few nights after they narrowly escaped a group of heavily armed muggers. Dad explained that Sam's sleepwalking had to do with the trauma, or basically from a surge of strong negative emotions. The part of 'strong negative emotions' definitely applied to Conner at the moment.

"Conner, it's me, Dean. Your friend, Dean. And right now, you _do_ belong here. Me and Sam don't want you going anywhere for a while." said Dean, calm and comforting.

He learned that, whenever someone was sleepwalking, they were either unaware of their environment or their senses were still partially working. In the case of the latter, there was a chance that they could see things, hear things, respond. If Dean had to talk to him in this state, he did not want Conner to hear that he was freaking out.

"I don't… belong… Time is… wrong…" said Conner in a detached tone.

"'Time is wrong'? What do you mean it's wrong?" asked Dean. He hoped that this was merely a delusion induced by his sleepwalking.

Conner blinked gradually, as if he was falling asleep, or further into it. "Don't belong… Have to… go home… fix it…" he muttered.

"Whatever it is, I'll help you sort it out. Just… _please_ get away from the ledge." begged Dean. This was insane; Conner was not making any sense and it was getting harder for Dean to suppress his panic.

"Powers… fading… Have to fly… fly home now…" Conner dragged his foot an inch forward so that his toes were hovering in the air.

"Conner, no! Don't do anything stupid!" exclaimed Dean.

"I must fly… home…" said Conner in his daze. He dragged his other foot to the edge.

"Conner," warned Dean.

"Fly…" He put his left foot in front of him where there was nothing but space to land on… and Conner plummeted off the ledge.

"CONNER!"

Dean lunged, pushing his body and extending his arms as far as they could go. There was a fleeting heartbeat when his fingers only touched the cold air and his brain screamed at him in pure horror. Then he felt he was clutching onto something, something solid and thin. It turned out to be Conner's wrist.

Dean stared down and was utterly, incredibly relieved to find that he had a hold of his friend. Conner was dangling in the air like unresponsive bait waiting to be consumed and Dean, panting, was getting his mind wrapped around the thought that Conner could have died tonight. If he had not gone out to investigate, Conner would have stepped off the building without anyone to stop him. If his reaction had been just a single second late, Conner would have fallen freely until he smacked into concrete.

"I gotcha, buddy. I gotcha." said Dean, his voice trembling. As the feeling of terror washed out of him, he focused all his energy into hauling Conner back up onto the roof. When that was accomplished, he put his friend on the ground and checked to see if he was alright.

"Conner?" Dean shook him by the shoulder carefully and there was no reaction. He tried again with more force. " _Conner_?"

There was a whimper. A few seconds later, Conner peeled his eyes open. Dean thought that the danger was over at last with Conner awake. Unfortunately, Conner's next words crumpled Dean's optimism:

"Have to get to… Heaven…"

He was still sleepwalking. After almost falling to his death, he was still sleepwalking! "No, Conner, _not_ Heaven! _Not_. _Heaven!_ You're not going there 'cuz you're not dead. And you're _not_ gonna kill yourself just so you can get in!" Dean practically screamed at his friend's face.

Conner continued to stare dreamily ahead at the night sky, as if Dean's head was not blocking his view of the stars at all. "Almost there… need to fly…" he whispered.

"Damn it, Conner – _Wake up! Wake up! Snap the hell out of it!_ " shouted Dean. He was shaking Conner hard now, because if he did not do anything else, there was nothing to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. Dean desperately wanted this to end already; he was scared and confused beyond reason, although most of all he wanted Conner to wake up so he would not be alone anymore.

Finally, Conner winced and moaned at the harsh treatment he was receiving. Dean let him go when his eyes opened and, this time, they were clear and conscious. "…'ean?" he croaked softly.

"Yeah… Yeah, it's me." Dean breathed out. An enormous grin of relief was spreading across his face and he nearly leaned down to hug Conner.

Conner looked around them, bewilderment making his brow crinkle. "Where are we?" he asked hoarsely.

"On the roof." said Dean.

"Why?"

Dean swallowed the bile and uneasiness that were bubbling up his throat. "We were… We're trying to set up a prank for the janitors in the morning. Drop old fruit on them or something. I thought it would make you feel better." It was one of the lamest lies he had ever come up with, but his brain was still recovering from the shock of the last ten minutes and even the act of thinking straight was a challenge. He also hoped that Conner was disoriented enough not to ask too many questions or regard Dean's answer warily. "But we haven't done much yet since you hit your head on that satellite." added Dean, jerking a thumb over to the large dish by the side.

"I hit my head?" repeated Conner.

"Duh. Why do you think you don't remember being up here?" said Dean, trying to put on a fake air of confidence.

Conner attempted to sit up, though he ended up doing a mere backward crawl. "Where's Sam?" he inquired.

"He's too much of a wimp to stay up this late." lied Dean. "Let's head back. This plan's a bust anyway." he said before Conner could form any more questions.

Gingerly, Dean wrapped Conner's left arm around his shoulder, although that got a pained groan out of him. "My arm hurts." he grunted.

Dean noted that that was the arm he grabbed onto when Conner fell; he must have torn a muscle or something in the process. "You fell on it when you crashed into that satellite, you sissy." commented Dean as he switched to Conner's right arm. He placed his hand on Conner's hip and once he deemed their legs steady enough, he lead them to the stairs.

"I'm tired." Conner murmured.

"Don't worry. There's still room for you in my bed." said Dean. He was not leaving Conner alone again tonight.


	12. Children of a Light that Never Dims

**8:00 AM**

"You okay, Conner?" Sam asked as carefully as he could manage.

"Yes, I'm fine." replied Conner, showing a smile so trivial that it was more likely to be a forced one.

The three of them were at the table, having an unusually quiet breakfast. The weight from yesterday had yet to leave their troubled minds, although the heaviness varied with each person. Sam was concerned because he had been there when Conner broke down in the playground. Dean, meanwhile, acted like his typical casual self, but deep down, he was absolutely tense, because there was no telling when Conner would be put in another lethally dangerous situation, whether he was aware of what was happening or not.

Dean did not tell Sam what took place last night; he did not dare tell him that Conner nearly fell off the rooftop in a crazed effort to reach his family. Sleep became hard to come by for Dean during the hours that followed. One reason was that he had to struggle to recover from the rush of adrenalin and emotions after his friend had a brush with death. The other reason was that he had the urge to watch over Conner for the remainder of the night, just in case anything came up. The fact that Conner passed out the instant they settled into Dean's bed had been a relief. Nonetheless, that did not stop Dean from keeping a close eye on him until the crack of dawn.

Conner still had no memory of his sleepwalking incident, something Dean discovered (and was grateful for) after asking him subtle questions about last night. Dean decided to leave it at that; Conner would be better off not knowing just how desperate he truly was regarding his family.

"If you need more hugs, I can give you a bazillion of them!" said Sam enthusiastically.

"Thank you, but I don't think that would be necessary." said Conner. He bent his head and transferred his attention to his bowl of cereal.

"Come on, Sam. Stop smothering him with all your mush." said Dean.

He appreciated that his brother wanted to help, but Conner needed room to breathe and the chance to think a little straighter. He cannot do any of those with Sam suffocating him with his Care Bear, chick-flick way Conner's shoulders slacked a little convinced Dean that his friend was thankful to be spared from another one of Sam's bone-crushing affection.

The room went silent again – save for the clang of spoons and a noisy slurp or two – and Dean could not prevent himself from being immersed in his thoughts. It did not matter that they more or less already accepted Conner into their weird lives, nor did it matter that Conner was getting a semblance of happiness with them. Yesterday, or last night, made it obvious that Conner was not fine, not really. His family may be a crappy one, but he missed it dearly nevertheless. Dean thought that, if he were in Conner's shoes, he would be feeling the same way.

Dean let out the barest of sighs and reached for the box of cereal in the middle of the table. He tipped it into his bowl, and as the colorful flakes came pouring, something bigger crashed into the pile that sent milk splashing across the table. Sam yelped in surprise and Conner glanced upward with mild confusion in his eyes. The irritation that Dean felt lasted quite briefly as he learned what the thing in the cereal box was exactly.

"Holy crap." he muttered under his breath.

Sam wiped a couple of flecks of milk from his arm. "Dean?" he ventured, a bit anxious.

" _I got the Batman mask_!" Dean proclaimed, holding the object high above his head for the others to marvel at. "See? I got it! I actually got it!" He could hardly believe it. In an extremely rare instance, he was lucky; one of the things he had been hoping for really came true. To top it all off, the mask looked just like the kick-ass picture on the box (and not like the prizes that turned out to be a total, floppy disappointment).

It took a while for Dean to put down the mask and acknowledge the existence of the people in the room with him. "You know what this means, right?" he asked excitedly.

There was a moment of silence from the two.

"Your face is gonna smell like peanut butter?" Sam piped up, referring to the flavor of the cereal.

Dean frowned and took the mask off the table to protect its integrity. "No," he said deliberately. "It means that we can score big on tonight's trick-or-treating!"

Instantlyecstatic, Sam giggled and the noise that came out was essentially a high-pitched girly squeal. He abandoned his breakfast and sprinted toward the bedroom, whether to search for any fun clothes he could wear or money to be used to buy costumes. Conner, on the other hand, remained in his seat appearing as oblivious as always, but there was a hint of excitement in his features, as if he was fully aware they were going to do something entertaining, though unsure what that would be.

For Dean, he was simply glad that they were going trick-or-treating. To be honest, he had been uncertain for days if they should go out on Halloween, albeit now there was an incentive. He would let them celebrate Halloween like normal kids, for Conner. This will be as good an opportunity as any to help him cheer up, and if running around in wacky costumes would not work out for him, there was always the candy to look forward to.

Besides, this was the perfect excuse to finally try out his Batman voice (which he _totally_ had not been practicing for weeks, and certainly not in the closet of motel rooms).

**11:31 AM**

It took some time before they found a store that sold costumes and a bunch of other junk with prices their severely limited budget could afford. Sam, of course, ran straight inside and disappeared a few seconds after Dean and Conner made it through the door. The place smelled of old cardboard and fresh leather, and while most people would describe the air as stale, Dean would classify it as an invitation to overlooked and underestimated treasures.

"Conner, if you don't hurry up, you'll run out of good costumes to choose from!" hollered Dean over his shoulder.

His friend picked up the pace and caught up with him at the third aisle. "I still don't understand how clothing can make people throw food out of their homes." said Conner. "Are you certain we're not declaring war on random strangers?" he asked.

"For the last time, people are only gonna give us candy and other treats, _not their entire food supply_. And they're doing that 'cuz they _want_ to, not 'cuz they have to give a peace offering, or sacrifice or whatever." said Dean. He sighed and went further into the store, Conner tagging along like a shadow.

"So I won't be needing this?" asked Conner.

Turning to see what Conner had, Dean was shocked to find a crowbar in his friend's hand. "How did you even get that in here?" he hissed so as to not draw attention from the other shoppers. He did not even notice Conner pick it up from somewhere on their way here.

"That involves a very long story." said Conner impassively. The way he answered was so nonchalant it was as if openly carrying a potential weapon around was an everyday thing for him, and that was slightlydisconcerting.

Dean snatched the crowbar from his hand and shoved it inthe nearest hiding place he could pinpoint, which in this case happened to be under a pile of baby's clothes. He hoped that that would not lead to any consequences.

"Dean! Look what I found!" Sam proclaimed, jogging toward them. He was wearing a pair of long, furry feet and a brown tail was haphazardly attached behind him; he also carried with him a matching brown suit and a pair of ears. "I'm gonna go as a kangaroo!" he said happily.

"I thought we agreed that you'd go as Robin." said Dean.

"But I don't wanna be Robin." moped Sam.

"I put on a hippo costume for you last year. This year, you're gonna be Robin." asserted Dean. That was one memory he did not want to relive. "Besides, what's so scary about a kangaroo? Kangaroos can't scare off bad guys or kick their asses." he said.

"Kangaroos can still kick!" argued Sam. He hopped around in his big kangaroo feet and started kicking at random directions to prove his point.

The realization that this would be going nowhere hit Dean like a prick from a thorn. "Tell you what, if you can find a better costume, I'll let you off as Robin. Deal?" he offered.

"Deal!" said Sam. With that, he ran off and vanished once more amidst the shelves and the scant number of people in the store.

"Too bad all the good stuff don't come in his size." muttered Deanwickedly. He had checked the other aisles, and so far the only option for his brother would be the Robin getup.

With Sam momentarily distracted, Dean faced Conner, who was inquisitively poking at a snow-globe. "Alright, you still need a costume too." he said.

Conner tore his gaze from the snow-globe. "But – "

"Don't make me get you a fairy princess outfit." Dean cut in. Before Conner could utter a reply, he dragged him to the other parts of the store.

They passed shelf after shelf, and every so often, Dean would find something interesting and dump it into Conner's unsuspecting arms. A Frankenstein's monster costume, an astronaut costume, a mini soldier's uniform, a zombie costume… Eventually, Dean was hardly even considering what he was getting his hands on, so long as he was giving Conner a lot of options. It was his first Halloween after all (or at least that was what Dean assumed when Conner threw him yet another blank look), so he wanted to nudge him to the right direction. Sam already had plenty of Halloween experiences, so Dean allowed him to go off on his own.

Ten minutes later, the two of them reached the end of the store where the tiny dressing rooms were located. By now, the heap of clothes Conner had was high enough to obscure most of his upper body, right to the extent that the tufts of his messy hair were solely visible.

"Okay, try these on and pick out whatever you like best." said Dean, guiding Conner into one of the dressing rooms. Each of the costumes had a small instruction tag on how to wear all the bits and pieces in the proper order and style, so Dean was luckily spared the task of dressing Conner up in a dozen costumes. Surely even someone as naïve as Conner could follow instructions on a paper.

Conner met Dean's eyes as he began to close the door. "Are these truly nece– ?"

"Conner," sighed Dean edgily.

At that, Conner reluctantly shut the door. Dean was getting ready to wait for him to emerge when Sam's familiar, eager footsteps reached his ears.

"Dean, what about this?" asked Sam, spinning in place so that Dean could see his entire costume.

"What are you supposed to be?" responded Dean. Sam appeared to be a jello and plastic experiment gone wrong, and he truly wondered what possessed him to even put it on.

"I'm a blob monster!" said Sam.

Dean stared at his brother for a long moment. "Nope." he said.

"Huh?"

"Blob monster's lame."

A bitch-face made itself apparent on Sam's features, but that was to be expected. " _You're_ lame." he mumbled. In spite of that, he sulked back to the aisles to find another costume.

There was a sudden crash in Conner's dressing room and Dean was forced to return his attention to him. The noise behind the door sounded dull, similar to something (or someone) falling onto soft layers.

"How you doin', Conner?" inquired Dean.

Conner let out a moan, then replied, "I don't like the big glass bowl."

Glass bowl? He must have meant the astronaut helmet. Now that Dean thought about it, that helmet _was_ kind of heavy, so Conner could have lost his balance and crashed into the wall when he wore it.

"Guess you're not cut out to be an astronaut then." he commented.

A minute passed and Sam returned wearing a (slightly large) werewolf costume and a proud expression. "How about this?" he said.

"I've seen ten kids wear that costume today already." replied Dean. In fact, he was pretty sure he had seen more than that but lost count when he summarized that it was really, annoyingly popular in the town this year.

"So I'll go as the best one!" declared Sam.

"You're about as terrifying as a poodle. You can't pull this off." said Dean.

In all honesty, Sam resembled a puppy in that costume more than anything else; it was the equivalent of attempting to convince people that a dandelion can beutilized to stab an elephant. Even with the teeth and claws, he could not wipe the pudgy cuteness away. Sam huffed in frustration and resumed his search.

During the next few minutes, there was no progress report from both Sam and Conner, and with the idea of trick-or-treating in a matter of hours, Dean was unable to repress his growing impatience. They still had to examine the neighborhood, figure out which houses were likely to give out the really big candy, and even assess the competition (if there were any other Batmans out there, Dean would need to put his sabotaging skills into use).

"Dean?" Conner's voice drifted out from the opposite side of the door.

"Yeah?" replied Dean.

"I think I like this one."

It was about time. "Let's see it." said Dean.

The door cracked open and Conner slowly walked into view… as Superman.

Dean's eyes widened and a low whistle escaped his lips. "Nice." he commented.

With all the costumes Dean swiped from the shelves, he did not even realize that he had gotten his hands on a Superman outfit and tossed it into the rest of the mix. It was rather strange that Conner preferred the costume related to his name, or the name they dubbed him with anyway. Dean wondered if Conner did that on purpose, albeit he sincerely doubted that he would do this just to tease actually looked good in the blue and red tights; if anything, he seemed almost ready to fly into the clouds and zoom off to another country. In addition, Conner's innocence complemented Superman's sense of purity rather well so the whole thing was sort of… perfect for him.

"Hey, now he really _is_ like Superboy!" said Sam, who had just returned.

Conner's head titled to the side and his brow knitted together inbafflement. "Is that a good thing?" he asked.

"Yeah, it is." answered Dean. "Now we can kick bad guy butts together! Batman and Superman! …Or Batboy and Super– oh, whatever. You get the idea."

"And I'll be the moose!" yelled Sam as he showed off the antlers on his head. He also had the hoof-gloves on his hands, while the rest of the suit was rolled up in a bundle in his arms.

"Seriously?" exclaimed Dean. If Sam had shown him that he was interested in the moose costume much earlier, Dean would have permitted him to be the blob monster instead, because at least that had the word 'monster' connected to it.

"I wanna be the moose! _I wanna be the moose!_ " cried Sam, stomping his foot as a sign of his tantrum starting.

"What can a moose _do_ anyway?" asked Dean. The fact that the moose was kind of related to the animals on Santa's sleigh was not helping him consider this as an appropriate costume for Halloween. Plus, the moose was… too Canadian for Dean.

"The moose is actually a formidable animal. Its antlers can be used as weapons, and its bulk alone has the potential to crush or fatally injury a full-grown human." said Conner.

Sam and Dean stared at Conner for a while. This was simply another testament that Conner knew a lot about matters that most people would deem unimportant (and yet somehow knew little of the basic things in life). For now, he provided Sam with the ammo he needed.

"What he said!" said Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes and felt the urge to rant his problems to anyone who could listen. But Halloween was upon them and they cannot afford to waste more time. "Fine. I'll get you the stupid moose costume. Now take that stuff off." he grumbled.

**6:45 PM**

Not to brag or anything, but Dean thought he looked awesome in his Batman costume, especially since he had to be 'creative' when it came to the other parts of his getup. With them being low on money, he had to exclude himself from buying an actual costume at the store unlike Sam and Conner.

His cape was a black sheet he stole from a decorative grim reaper at someone's front lawn. He scrounged around dumpsters for cigarette packs and painted them yellow for a more authentic utility belt; there were six boxes in total, and in each he put all the necessities like a pouch of salt, his army knife, a mini flashlight, matches, a tiny can of Silly String and his slingshot, because Batman (and a hunter) should be prepared for anything. He also made sure to put a special holder for the Batarang he had gotten from his cereal a few days ago. The bat insignia was a piece of cardboard he painted on, cut out, and taped to his chest. And the remainder of his costume had been improvised using the clothes he already had.

On Dean's right, Conner was in his Superman costume, looking great (but not as great as Dean, of course) and practically emitting the classic goody two-shoes vibe. Dean initially expected Conner to trip over his cape because it was longer than it should be, although he was oddly a natural walking with it.

On Dean's left was Sam in his moose costume… scratching vigorously at this bum.

"Sam, would you stop scratching your butt? It's getting embarrassing." rebuked Dean. They were already close to the houses and some people were throwing funny looks at them, Sam in particular.

"But it itches." complained Sam. Every couple of scratches led to a bit of fake moose fur flying off the suit, and it seemed possible that Sam's furry bottom would be left bare.

"Should've thought of that when you turned down that Robin costume." said Dean.

Sam briefly stopped scratching. "Then my butt would've been _cold_." he said, referring to the fact that Robin did not wear pants.

"You are such a whiny baby." Dean commented with a sigh.

They crossed the road and were soon standing in front of the first house of the street. It was an average home: the Halloween decorations were simple and kid-friendly enough to suggest that a morally-decent group of people lived there, but the fact that there were Halloween stuff in their yard in the first place was a sign that they supported the holiday, so they were not one of those folks who yelled at trick-or-treaters or lectured them about the 'satanic dangers' and 'brainwashing cults' running rampant tonight.

"Conner, why don't you take the first house?" asked Dean, nudging Conner with his elbow.

Conner's body went tense. "Me?"

"This your first Halloween, right?" Dean was met with a nod. "Think of this as an initiation." he said. The house measured up to the standards of 'normal' so there really should not be anything Conner ought to be nervous about.

In spite of that, Conner was staring at the house with absolute doubt.

"You either go there on your own or I'm dragging you all the way to the front porch." said Dean, giving Conner a push forward to get him moving.

Once Conner recovered his footing (and what amount of dignity he lost after being pushed around in a Superman outfit), he slowly set off to the door of the house. Dean and Sam lurked by the mailbox to track Conner's progress, which was near enough to watch what was occurring yet far enough to not really interfere. Conner held his trick-or-treating bag like a shield in front of him, something which made Dean question if his friend was even fit to wear the costume and carry out its symbolism anymore.

Eventually, Conner was on the porch and ringing the doorbell. A couple materialized at the door, and though Dean could not hear what they were saying, he was sure that they were using the 'baby voice' on Conner as they pinched his cheek and ruffled his hair. He almost felt sorry for Conner; but then again, this was an experience that would 'help build character,' as his dad called it.

Approximately two minutes later, Conner was on his way back like a soldier returning from a mission and marching toward base camp.

"What'd you get?" asked Sam eagerly.

Conner reached into his bag and fished out a plump, red object. "An apple." he replied. All of a sudden, his impassive expression was replaced by one of glee. "I got an apple!" he repeated, as if he had just won the war or something and the fruit was his proud trophy.

"Great, good for you." humored Dean. It was Conner's first Halloween treat after all, so he might as well play nice and hold back on the teasing for now. At least he and Sam could give all the 'treats' they did not like to Conner.

**7:13 PM**

Dean was standing outside a public restroom since Sam said he really, really had to go. Fortunately, Conner agreed to accompany his brother, which involved getting Sam out of and into the moose suit so Dean considered saving him a bar of Crunch and three pieces of Pixie Stix for his troubles.

To say that he was jealous of the other kids who were freely trick-or-treating at this moment would be an understatement. He had been waiting for over fifteen minutes, and that was already fifteen minutes' worth of candy lost to them. Trick-or-treating was serious business and time was crucial. If Sam and Conner will not hurry up, the decent candy would end up in the bags of those who were less deserving, like the ones in the fairy princess attires.

In his irritation, Dean turned to the wall so he would not have to see the kids and their bags so close to bursting with sweets. The feeling of boredom returned a short while later and he discovered himself locating any source of entertainment. His eyes then fell on his shadow splayed across the wall, and with the kind of lighting available, his outline appeared much larger and much more threatening than average. Dressing up as Batman could not have come at a better time.

Dean spread his makeshift cape and whispered to himself, "I'm Batman."

A sense of giddiness made his heart beat a tad faster. He stretched his body a little more so that his shadow would become bigger. "I'm Batman." he said, louder than the first.

He was energized now. Dean struck a theatrical pose and just as dramatically cried out, "I… am _Batman_!"

The shadow he was projecting looked beyond awesome, practically as if he were Batman himself patrolling the city. Dean ran a short distance, leaped, tucked and rolled, punched the air a few times and concluded his performance with an amateur flying kick. "I AM BAT– !"

He awkwardly stumbled to the ground when he noticed that Conner and Sam were judging him. They were scrutinizing him in a manner similar to doctors pondering over the fate of the guy in the straight-jacket.

"Do you require medical assistance?" inquired Conner anxiously.

Dean gradually stood up and dusted the dirt off his costume. "This never happened." he said lowly. He grabbed his bag of candy and went on to search for their next house.


	13. I'll Light the Night with Stars

**9:46 PM**

"I dunno, Dean," voiced out Sam, nervous.

After a quite fruitful round of trick-or-treating, not to mention gorging on half of their loot to lighten the load they were all carrying, the three of them found themselves standing at the foot of a mellow-sloped hill. At the top of the hill was a formidable three-story house, which was basking in its own unnerving solitude and chilly silence. There were no other people around, and somehow the night was blacker in this area, as if the lack of kids giggling in their sparkly outfits and bright neon lights turned the atmosphere aloof, almost vindictive.

It was amazing how many stories, lore and gossip a person can pick up on the streets, especially during Halloween when everyone was up and about and more than willing to share anything that was even remotely scary. While passing by the town hall, Dean overheard some older kids talk about a house that had been abandoned since the late eighteenth century, and how 'weird stuff' happened there occasionally.

He heard a similar story when he, Sam, and Conner were trick-or-treating near a village gazebo, namely from a guy in his sixties complaining (very loudly) to a woman roughly his age about a house that should have been torn down decades ago because of 'health hazards'. Once Dean managed to pinpoint the location, he had to keep his anticipation hidden from Sam and Conner as he opted to surprise them. Basically, they worked their way through house after house to collect candy while Dean secretly led the others to the direction of the mysterious house.

Now they were here and Dean's companions were not exactly thrilled about this discovery.

"Don't be such a chicken, Sammy." said Dean.

"I am _not_ a chicken!" huffed Sam.

"Sam is correct. He is dressed up like a moose right now." said Conner, who was still sometimes a bit too naïve for his own good.

Regardless, Dean walked up to the tiny front gate that barely reached his neck and pushed it open carefully. Its hinges squeaked but the noise it made lasted only for a second as the gate retreated quietly the rest of the way. Smiling, Dean glanced behind him and gestured for Sam and Conner to follow him inside the property, which they halfheartedly did.

"Do we really have to do this?" whined Sam.

"It's not Halloween until you go in a haunted house. It's, like, a rule or something." said Dean, sidestepping a tangle of dying ivy. The plants must have been nice and healthy when the house had been in its prime, but it would seem that the years were unkind to them as practically every bush and patch were either dead or quickly dying.

"But we got candy!" reasoned Sam, holding up his paper bag where his precious sweets were.

"Having a sugar rush isn't all there is to Halloween. You gotta have a bit of excitement to it too." said Dean, and if his grin did not tell them that he was ecstatic about this, then the foolhardy enthusiasm in his voice ought to convince them.

Conner spoke up when they were halfway up the hill. "What are we supposed to do here?"

"Explore, find some awesome junk… maybe get someone to pee their pants." At his last words, Dean stole a glance at his brother, which Sam returned by throwing him a nasty bitch face.

Soon, they reached the front door. The wood that had been used to build it was currently rotting in several places like a child's tooth after one really wild Halloween. Yet, despite its dilapidated state, it nonetheless appeared imposing, as if it had grown accustomed to keeping whatever horrors the house had inside and not out.

"You sissies ready?" asked Dean.

Sam said nothing and simply put on the best brave face he could, which was not all that remarkable given his cuddly moose suit.

Meanwhile, Conner briefly pursed his lips, and maybe there was something about wearing the Superman costume because he really looked like he was prepared to confront what the house had in store. "Ready, though I dislike being called a 'sissy'." he stated.

"Then it's time to prove you aren't one, huh? That goes for you too, Sam." said Dean.

Another bitch face, followed by his brother sticking his tongue out at him.

Dean dismissed Sam's trivial gestures and tried to work the doorknob. He expected it to be locked, or to at least fall off due to the surrounding decay, but miraculously the door swung open without so much as a stubborn drag. It was pitch dark inside; Dean turned on his flashlight and the small beam of light it projected was almost instantly consumed at how thick the gloom was.

For a second, he thought this might actually be a stupid idea. Then he cast that notion aside because it was Halloween. Besides, he figured this would serve as a good training exercise so that he can help his dad on the job some day; he did not want to stay indoors with babysitting duty for the rest of his life.

Dean went inside the house, and in his peripheral vision he saw Conner come up on his left. Pretty soon, the shadow of a short person with antlers stretching out on the floor implied that Sam finally went in as well. Now that all three of them were inside, Dean could get a decent look of what was on the first floor:

In front of them was what had been the living room or a lounge area. Plush sofas gathered around a fireplace were covered in many layers of dust and cobwebs; a coffee table was in the center and remained standing in spite of the fact that two of its legs were on the brink of collapsing. A head of some ill-fated, and now unidentifiable, creature was mounted on the fireplace, which appeared more unnerving since its eyes were gone and its mouth hung loosely agape. Beyond the living area was a space that resembled a kitchen.

The three of them made their way further inside, wary of creating any noise. All was quiet for the first couple of seconds, then Dean gave a start when he heard something fall to the floor. He looked behind him and saw that Sam had tripped on one of the loose floorboards.

"Sorry." mumbled Sam sheepishly. Conner bent down to help him up.

"Way to make a stealthy entrance." said Dean. He shone his flashlight around the place and added, smirking playfully, "You probably woke up the ghosts."

Sam went rigid as he got back on his feet. "Ghosts? You didn't say there were any ghosts." he protested.

"What kind of a haunted house doesn't have any ghosts?" replied Dean.

"A nice kind?" offered Sam.

Rolling his eyes, Dean continued exploring the house, and eventually Conner and Sam joined him seeing as they had nothing else to do here.

Suddenly, the front door slammed shut.

For what felt like an agonizingly long moment, Dean, Sam, and Conner were frozen in place while the deafening echoes faded out. None of them said anything, nor did anyone tear their gaze from the front door that was presently blocking their view of the outside world.

"What did I tell ya? You woke them up." said Dean to his brother, trying to lighten up the situation.

Sam stared at Dean, then back to the door, and again at Dean. "That was… I didn't mean to!" he cried out.

"There's no turning back now." said Dean, inflecting a dark and dramatic tone to his voice to give off a sinister effect. Sam held his paper bag in front of him like a shield and his grip on it visibly tightened.

"Come on, let's check the place out before the other ghosts are woken up." said Dean casually as if he was simply taking a look at the new neighborhood.

"They wake each other up?" asked Sam, a tremble in his voice.

"The more, the scarier." said Dean in a singsong manner.

For the record, the reasonable part in Dean's brain was poking at his hunter instincts and urging him to go into survival mode or, more preferably, to go out of the house so he could prevent anything else from happening. But the thrill was exciting him, and if he turned tail now, how could he ever be brave enough to accompany his dad on a real hunt?

After all, this was the perfect opportunity to scare the living daylights out of Sam, and even Conner.

"Hey, I wonder if the walls would ooze slime, blood, or a gazillion flesh-eating beetles?" said Dean to no one in particular, but loud enough to be heard by both Sam and Conner, who had wandered off to different sections of the place.

Conner muttered something about how impractical it would be for a wall to spew out liquid on its own, and how the structure was not ideal for so many insects. Then he went to investigate a particularly intriguing dust bunny in the corner. Sam, on the other hand, appeared intimidated by the walls and backed away from them, choosing to explore the middle of the room instead.

Against his better judgment, Dean decided to kick it up a notch. "You know, I heard a story about these kids who played hide and seek in an old abandoned house, kinda like this one." he began, pretending to check out one of the sofas.

"The guy who was 'it' hid in a closet, but when he closed the door a really heavy box fell on his head and knocked him out." He caught a glimpse of Sam listening intently to his story and he was, once again, clutching his paper bag tightly to his chest. "The other kids looked for him for hours, but when it got late, they decided to call it quits and left, thinking maybe the other guy was being a douche and already went ahead without them, just for kicks."

This time, Conner turned his attention away from the head on the fireplace and focused on what Dean was saying. "Days passed, _years_ passed… but the kid was never found." Dean went on.

He started to encircle his two companions, and as he continued with his tale, his every movement unconsciously drew Sam and Conner closer together, much like prey being herded to one location.

"Eventually, a couple went into the old house, looking for a new place to live or something, and they sorta liked the garden outside so they thought the place was a worth the shot." said Dean. "So they checked the place out. Things were pretty much alright – a little dusty, but alright… until they got to a certain closet."

Sam and Conner were next to each other at this point, and they were somewhat boxed in by the sofas around them. "You know what they saw when they opened the closet?" asked Dean quietly.

The two of them did not say a word as they hung desperately onto Dean's. They waited with bated breath, their eyes huge and hungry for the answer…

Dean promptly switched his flashlight off and yelled, "A SQUIRREL!"

There was screaming and the sound of a person or two falling over, and scrambling in the dark was heard afterward. Dean turned his flashlight back on just in time to see his panicking little brother sprawled all over Conner, who had his flashy red cape unceremoniously thrown over his head. If there had ever been an opportune moment to laugh at someone's expense, this would be it.

"Oh man… you should… you should've seen the look… on your faces! Priceless!" wheezed Dean in between fits of mirth.

"That wasn't funny, Dean!" screamed Sam, the beginnings of tears brimming in his eyes.

"It was awesome!" said Dean, leaning against a sofa to steady himself. His sides were starting to hurt from laughing so hard, but there was no way he regretted what he pulled off. "I don't even know who was more freaked out, you or Conner."

As if tugged by invisible strings, Conner shuffled to his feet and let Sam slip to the floor. "I wasn't scared." defended Conner.

"Right, sure… keep telling yourself that when you see yourself in a mirror." snickered Dean. Conner's usual flustered look was nothing compared to how he appeared now; it was as if he had gone through a hundred rollercoaster rides while hanging upside-down the entire time.

By the time Dean had recovered, Conner and Sam were glaring at him at virtually the same intensity. "Okay, I'm good. I swear, no more fooling around." he said, lifting his hands in a semi-genuine motion of cooperation.

Later, after a bit of apologizing on Dean's part, they were exploring the second floor. They learned that this was where the bedrooms and bathroom were, and while those were the places that were supposed to be holding some valuable or interesting junk, the most fascinating item they found in the rooms, and in the whole house so far, was a pen collection. Plus, with Dean 'behaving himself,' things got boring fairly quickly.

All of a sudden, Sam, who was somewhere on Dean's left, gave out a yelp. Upon facing him, Dean saw that Sam was holding his bottom quite protectively as if his moose tail had been pulled a little too roughly.

"Dean, quit it." said Sam irately.

"I'm not doing anything." replied Dean.

Other than opening drawers in the latest bedroom they were in, he had not even touched a single object, let alone Sam or his moose tail, both of which were beyond his reach. He surveyed the room they were in, although no matter how bright his flashlight was or how much he sharpened his vision, the darkness in the house was overpowering. It was impossible to see every detail, every nook and cranny of the place unless it was daylight. For all he knew, a horde of gigantic mutant spiders could be hiding in the corners and cracks in the plaster.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened. As they were leaving the room, with Dean bringing up the rear and shutting the door behind him, a faint, eerie sound was heard, sort of like someone moaning from afar. The sound came from nowhere specific, yet it succeeded in bringing chills down their spines.

"Dean, you said you'd stop!" said Sam.

"That wasn't me!" said Dean honestly. Despite his claim, Conner and Sam were staring down at him dubiously. Sure, he could not really blame them, but would it kill them to believe him this one time?

Sam walked along the remainder of the hallway, Conner not far behind. Sighing, Dean trudged after them with a mixture of frustration and paranoia. There was something going on here, something that was messing with them, and Dean certainly was not responsible for any of the recent happenings.

They were approaching the last room on the second floor, albeit the journey there was slightly more troublesome since the floorboards creaked louder, like it was an effort to alert their presence to the entire house. Dean did not know if he was imagining things or not, but he could have sworn that there was a shift in the darkness, a bare ripple of movement deep in the folds of the shadows.

He picked up the pace so that he was as close as possible to Conner and Sam to keep a better eye on them. Surreptitiously, Dean reached for one of the weapons he had stashed into his makeshift utility belt…

One of the paintings hanging on the right side of the wall fell to the dusty floor without warning, mere inches from Sam's feet. If he had gone further much sooner, Sam could have suffered from a nasty head injury.

"I don't wanna explore anymore. I'm going back to the motel." whimpered Sam, gradually backing away from the fallen painting before breaking into a jog for the stairs.

Not wanting them to become separated in a haunted house (which was the biggest rule that should never be broken), Dean tapped Conner's arm in a gesture to follow him as he raced after his little brother. "Sam, I swear, I'm no– " he began.

Dean skidded to a halt a few centimeters from where Sam was standing totally still, right before he reached the landing of the stairs. The beam from his flashlight fell forward, which revealed a figure on their left side, underneath the threshold of the first room on the second floor. It was a man with tattered clothing and skin that was paler and sicklier than moonlight shining through a grimy window. A dark substance coated the tips of his fingers all the way up to his elbows; something reflective ominously glistened in his left hand.

The man was grinning at them.

"I do believe Dean is telling the truth." whispered Conner at such a low voice that, regardless of how close they were huddled up, was extremely difficult to hear. Yet, at the same time, it was like the sound of a twig snapping inside a lion's den.

The man shuffled toward them. One step… Then another… And another…

Suddenly, he was hurtling straight toward them.

"RUN!" Dean shouted, practically shoving Sam and Conner down the stairs.

Their attacker – a ghost, Dean supposed, because what else could it be? – narrowly missed grabbing Dean's head as he ducked and crawled out of range. While the ghost recovered and turned almost instantly, Dean snatched a handful of the salt he brought with him and hurled it; his projectile landed squarely on the ghost's ugly face.

He could not savor his victory for long as he had to catch up with his companions. Dean was the only one of them who had had training in hunting monsters, which made him qualified and responsible for the group's protection. He needed to get them out of here fast, and now he felt like such an idiot for even dragging them to this house in the first place. If one of them ever got hurt because of him, or worse…

Whatever thoughts Dean was having vanished at the sight of another ghost standing at the bottom of the stairs, blocking their way. This one was larger than the first ghost, and though he did not wear a manic smile, his mouth was contorted into a perpetual, agonized scream with nothing coming out. There was a long, metallic object sticking out of his chest and he was aiming its tip right at them, as if waiting to skewer the three of them.

Dean threw the remaining amount of salt at him. He intended to reach for his army knife afterward but, in the confusion, pulled out his can of Silly String at him instead. Since he could not afford to waste a second, he sprayed the ghost with a powerful jet of Silly String and hoped that that would at least distract it.

Some of the Silly String made its way into the ghost's mouth, causing it to moan and stagger back. Dean took this opportunity and hauled Sam and Conner away.

"This way! Come on!" he yelled.

They were halfway to the front door when a third ghost separated himself from the shadows and stood in between them and freedom. For a moment, he appeared to be the most normal of the ghosts they had encountered. Then, Dean's flashlight shone at his face directly and it was revealed that his eye sockets were gaping black holes.

"Dean!" screamed Sam as the ghost managed to latch onto his plastic antlers.

"Get away from my brother!" Dean sprayed more Silly String, aiming for the eyeholes, and the ghost let go. After a couple of more erratic spurts, the ghost stumbled into a lamp and the path toward the door was cleared. "Sam, Conner, go out the front! I'll hold them off!" hollered Dean, pulling out the Batarang from his utility belt.

The other two ghosts were approaching them now, and Dean got into a stance that told them that he was ready to fight. There was a deluge of fear that was threatening to flood his entire system, but he kept it as far down as he could. He cannot let the ghosts know that he was just about ready to crap his pants in terror; most of all, he cannot let Conner and Sam know that he was on the verge of breaking down.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Sam yelling distraughtly, "Dean! It won't open! _Dean_!"

Dean retreated a step, and in his peripheral vision he saw that Conner was using his full body weight to wrench the door open, but the hinges would not so much as budge.

The ghosts were advancing on them, trying to corner them.

Dean's eyes madly searched for an exit route. His gaze landed on a window near the fireplace. "Out the window! Hurry!" he ordered.

Conner let Sam run ahead of him, even utilizing his red cape to act as a sort of shield that would offer him what safety it could. Then, lightning-fast, Conner picked up half a brick that had fallen from the fireplace ages ago and tossed it at the animal head mounted on the wall. The result was the head plummeting to the floor, a few centimeters away from one of the incoming ghosts, which allowed them a few precious seconds to get some distance.

The feat would have impressed Dean but now the other ghosts were gaining on them. He threw his Batarang at another one of the ghosts, though he immediately had to look away and focus on running so he was not sure it if did any damage or not.

After what seemed like a century of scurrying in the dark, the three of them reached the window. Conner tried to wedge it open but it stayed firm; Dean and Sam added their strength to it but, even with the three of them exercising all their might, the window proved to be stubborn. In a desperate attempt, Dean threw the weight of his shoulder onto the glass yet all that achieved was an agonizing hit on his bicep. There was not even a sliver of a crack on the window.

When Dean recovered from the flash of pain, he saw that the ghosts had boxed them against the wall. They had gotten so close that not even fleeing was an option anymore. Sam whimpered and hid behind Dean, clutching his black cape tightly. He searched his belt for anything, anything at all, he could use to defend themselves, and came up with nothing. His can of Silly String was empty, he was out of salt, and the rest of the things he had would be worthless in fending off a ghost, let alone three.

Just when he was starting to really panic, Dean felt something solid being thrust into his hands. Conner had given him one of those pokers employed in tending to the fireplace. It was as thin and brittle as a newborn branch; it would not even crack open the surface of a papier-mâché piñata.

"What am I supposed to do with this thing?" asked Dean. He might as well use the flashlight as a weapon since it would pack more of a punch than the fragile rod.

Conner wielded another poker and was unwaveringly staring at the ghosts. "It's made of iron. It should repel them." he said.

As the ghosts towered over them, as Conner and Dean brandished their weapons and prepared to strike, the sound of someone's voice – female and irritated – put a stop to the struggle.

" _Hey_! What the hell is going on down there?"

Everyone – Dean, Conner, Sam, and the three ghosts – looked up to see a girl standing at the top of the stairs, appearing very displeased. She was wearing a black cat costume and even had her face in full feline makeup, yet there was something about the way she held herself that made it clear that she was in her late teens. She scowled at the six of them before pointing a clawed finger at one of the ghosts.

"Jaime, what are you _doing_?" she demanded.

The one with the empty eyeholes turned away from the wall to face her. "Just a bit of fun." he – Jaime – answered cheekily.

"We got ourselves some trespassers here, Megan. We're dealing with them." said the ghost with the huge mouth, which was not really huge at all since it was apparently makeup.

"This is our hideout, not some low class horror show." Megan, the girl in the cat costume, retorted.

Another girl came up behind Megan. Her skin was painted in a garish green hue and her hair was in a crazy up-do; she was also carrying a bottle of what Dean recognized was beer. "Hmm, we could actually pull that off. We could show that to – "

"Not now, Donna." interrupted Megan rather impatiently. She returned her attention downstairs. "Let the kids go. And for God's sake, Tim, tell me you weren't about to bite down on the moose's leg." she sighed.

Dean glanced to his side to find that one of the ghosts – Tim – was actually near Sam's left ankle. He protectively pushed his brother inward so that he was completely hidden behind Dean and Conner's capes.

Chuckling, Tim straightened himself up. "I wasn't gonna hurt 'im. Not really. Besides, Wally's the one who got crap on his face." he said, jerking his thumb to the ghost with the creepy grin. Dean recalled he was the one who unfortunately collided with the handful of salt.

As if still bothered by that fact, Wally grumpily crossed his arms. "So are we just gonna let them go or…?"

"What, you wanna play tea parties with them next?" asked Megan, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She was descending the stairs now, and when it was obvious that she had her eyes on Dean, Conner, and Sam, the 'ghosts' backed off.

Megan knelt down and smirked. "You pipsqueaks not suffering from a major heart attack, are you?" she asked.

From this proximity, Dean could smell the liquor from her breath, and how it was still warm and fresh. If he had to guess, Megan and her friends were one of those groups of teenagers who find a secluded place to hole up in so that they could drink and do whatever without anybody bothering them, like the police or annoying neighbors. Evidently, they were here in this house first, and the reason that they were not seen earlier was probably because they were hanging out in the attic. The commotion the three of them had made (Sam and Conner's screams in particular) must have notified the 'ghosts' and they thought it would be a swell idea to lock doors, make paintings fall, and essentially scare the living crap out of them.

"We're fine." answered Conner impassively.

Megan was a bit surprised that he was the one who answered and, frankly, so was Dean. Nonetheless, she snickered and a hint of a playful fire sparked her eyes. "'Least you were fighting back. That's good. The world needs more fighters." she stated.

She reached for something behind her and Dean realized that she actually had a backpack with her. Seconds of rummaging ticked by until Megan soon had a bag of jumbo marshmallows in her hand. "Here. I dunno, for your troubles, I guess. The guys won't be bothering you anymore." she said, sneaking a glance at the 'ghosts' who were rejoining Donna upstairs.

It took a while for Dean to register that Megan was offering the marshmallows to them and, momentarily, he considered shoving the bag at her face for all the anxiety her friends had caused. Since the atmosphere in the house was calming down, Dean felt like he was such a moron for not being able to distinguish a real ghost from a fake ghost. He should have known better. If he did, they might have avoided the running and the embarrassment. What would his dad say if he ever learned of this fiasco?

He snapped out of his thoughts when Megan was shaking the bag in front of him, as if to catch the attention of a befuddled animal. Not wanting to prolong this any longer, Dean snatched the marshmallows from her a bit too roughly and fixed his expression in what he hoped was a stony, dignified glare.

"You three oughta get going. If you leave now, you might still catch that cheesy movie with the ghost who has no friends, Caspian or whoever he is." said Megan. She was trying to lighten the mood but it was not really working; they were tired and going their own separate ways seemed to be the best idea in the world about now.

"Thanks." said Sam, who was peeking out of Dean and Conner's capes. Dean was uncertain if his brother was thanking Megan for the marshmallows or for the tip on the Casper show.

Either way, it was time they left. Dean motioned for the front door and he, Conner, and Sam were peeling themselves off the wall they had backed into and marched toward the exit with what remained of their self-worth. Dean did not let go of his iron poker, just in case, and he noticed that Conner still had his as well.

"Oh hey, Batman!" Megan called out. It took a second for Dean to comprehend that she was addressing him. "I never heard the ending of your story. What _did_ they really see in the closet?" she asked when Dean turned around.

Story? Did she mean the one he told Sam and Conner earlier? If that was so, then apparently everybody knew that they came into the house even before all the screaming and bickering. "I dunno… I was making most of that stuff along." he replied, shrugging.

Megan leaned against one of the sofas, a smile on her lips. "You know what would be really scary? If the couple finds the dead bodies of all the kid's playmates in the closet 'cuz they left him behind to die there. And now that kid's spirit will haunt that house forever in a never-ending game of hide and seek." she said.

Dean, Sam, and Conner stared at her.

A giggle slipped past Megan's mouth. "Well, toodles!" she said, giving them a lofty wave goodbye.

The instant she went out of the beam of Dean's flashlight, they made a frantic dash to the door.

**10:52 PM**

No one really wanted to go back to the motel for a while, where it was dark and lonely and awfully quiet. So while it was still Halloween, and the streets had yet to run out of people in ridiculous costumes being as loud and conspicuous as humanly possible, the three of them camped out in the grassy fields of the town park.

In this place, the night was lit up by strings of lanterns that emitted a soft, pumpkin-colored glow, making the park appear as if it was composed of cozy pools of firelight. The trees were decorated with multiple garlands of fake candy corn, and the streetlights were covered with tinted blue paper in a cheerful effort to add a sense of surrealism to the park.

Parents were carrying their children over their shoulders after the trick-or-treating had worn their legs out, but clearly not their energy since they were animatedly recalling the highlights of the night. Other people were shouting, not because they were in any danger, but because their friends were chasing them across the path after a prank had been pulled. Some poor kid in a ladybug costume was throwing up in a trashcan as he had eaten way too many candies too quickly.

Dean, Sam, and Conner's trick-or-treat candies had been lost in the haunted house due to the chaos. However, no one had any intention of returning there. They had consumed half of their original loot earlier anyway, and the ones that had been left behind were mostly the types of candy that were not really that satisfying to munch on. Besides, they had a whole bag of jumbo marshmallows to compensate for their loss.

With matches at the ready and sticks littering the ground, Dean soon constructed a campfire for them so that they could roast marshmallows in relative peace. They were hiding behind a big tree so that nobody could see and chastise them for starting a fire in public property.

It would have been relaxing… if only Sam would stop chewing with his mouth open.

"What? They're really gooey." he said when he noticed Dean staring at him. Sticky and melted splotches of marshmallows were all over his face and hands, and Dean figured if Sam fell over half the ground would attach itself to him.

Meanwhile, Conner was eating his roasted marshmallows in the most refined way Dean had ever seen in his life. It was like marshmallows on a stick was part of fine dining and etiquette to him and that somehow disturbed Dean even more than his brother's sheer lack of poise.

"Sam, why don't you… buy a souvenir or whatever." said Dean, pointing at the street vendor that had just wheeled in off to their side. He was selling tacky Halloween-themed bobble-heads, balloons, and picture frames.

"But I don't want – " began Sam.

"Then buy one for dad for when he gets back." said Dean.

Sam looked at him in a funny way, like he was caught between a bitch face and mild concern, before he obeyed and went to the vendor. A line of kids was already there so it might take a while for Sam to come back.

With his brother gone, that just left Dean with Conner, and he can finally get something off his mind.

"Hey, Conner," Dean started.

Conner cleanly licked off the last of the marshmallow goo on his fingertips. "Yes?" he replied.

"Thanks for, you know, a while back…" said Dean awkwardly. Honestly, he himself was no longer sure what he was thanking his friend for. Thanks for not running out on them. Thanks for helping Sammy. Thanks for actually doing something to keep the attackers at bay. Thanks for being prepared to fight by his side. Thanks for caring enough about two people he hardly knew for a week.

Seeing Conner's reaction, it was evident that he had not been expecting Dean's gratitude. Nonetheless, he smiled gently, even though Dean did not say anything specific. "I should say you deserved their treatment but… I'm glad all is well." he said.

Dean huffed out a laugh before he became serious. "There's one thing bugging me though." he started. "How'd you know that iron keeps ghosts away?"

Back at the house, when they had their backs to the wall and Conner gave him the metal poker, he could have simply said that it was the only weapon within reach, or something like that. Yet he had been specific. Iron can deal with ghosts for a short time but it would not leave any lasting damage. Conner had said that it will 'repel them,' which meant he knew that it would not get rid of the ghosts, but it would still be useful. Conner knew of authentic methods to handle ghosts and Dean was pretty sure not every kid had that kind of knowledge.

Instead of being surprised or stressed out, like Dean predicted, Conner remained as calm as he had been four seconds ago. "It's common information." he answered.

"No, it isn't." said Dean as he stood up and advanced on Conner.

"To me, as well as my brothers and sisters, it is." said Conner, not understanding what the fuss was about.

Dean was close to pointing his knife at him. "How do you kill a ghost?"

"Pardon?"

"How do you kill a ghost? _If_ that's even possible." he stated.

Conner blinked in puzzlement but responded anyway. "If you mean to permanently eradicate one, then simply burn the bones of its original body. Though it would be better if there was salt on them first, to be better purified." he said.

"What about a way to hurt a vampire? Not kill it, but just hurt it." Dean pressed on.

"Give it tainted blood, which can be done either with poison or by acquiring from a corpse." said Conner.

"How do you kill a shapeshifter?" inquired Dean.

"With silver, through the heart, like with a werewolf." replied Conner automatically.

"And to kill a shtriga?" Dean went on, the edge of his voice trembling. He tried not to think about the last time he and his family encountered one; he tried not to think about how close it had gotten to his brother.

"Why are you asking me all of these – ?"

"Just answer the damn question first." snapped Dean.

Conner paused for a moment, thinking. "Blessed iron, but it will only be effective when a shtriga is feeding." he said eventually.

The only thing Dean was able to do was stare at him in pure shock. "Holy crap." he muttered.

"What? What is it?" asked Conner, fearing he had done something wrong.

"Are you a hunter?" Dean directly inquired.

There was his head-tilt thing again. "A what?"

Dean did not know if Conner was that oblivious or if he was doing a convincing job of playing stupid. "You have a dad, right? Is he a hunter? Is anyone else in your family a hunter?" he asked a tad impatiently.

The look of confusion was spreading on Conner's expression. "I don't know what – "

" _A hunter_!" Dean practically yelled, as if that might shake some sense into him already. "You kill the supernatural creeps that are eating people or ripping their guts out or just plain murdering them! A hunter!" he said, and suddenly he found himself breathing hard and fighting back the tears that were not supposed to be there.

Conner's bewilderment never left his face.

"How can you know all these things if you're not a hunter?" asked Dean, who was now baffled as well.

"Our knowledge and understanding of the world is given to us by our Father." said Conner in a voice that was so calm that Dean wanted to punch him, just so he could react more believably. No one talked _calmly_ about these things, not even his dad.

"What, he just _teaches_ all this to you?" inquired Dean, feeling his energy – the anger, the hope – trickle out of him.

"Essentially." said Conner.

Dean sat back down on the grass and did his best to get his emotions under control. "What does he do anyway?"

"Do?"

"Like a job? Or does he bum around at home all the time?" offered Dean.

This had Conner thinking for a long while. "He has many jobs. Actually, He does every job imaginable." he replied.

"Anything more specific?" asked Dean, using a tone similar to when he was making Sam explain something _clearly_.

"That's as specific as I can get without going into too much detail." said Conner.

"You're not making sense." Dean sighed.

If he did not know him any better, Dean could have sworn he saw Conner roll his eyes at him. "My Father is a gardener, a healer, a shepherd, a teacher, a keeper of– "

"Okay, I get it. The dude's busy." interrupted Dean. He knew _his_ dad had taken on a lot of roles in his time, but he doubted he ever took on the roles of Conner's dad. Dean's dad was not… gentle enough to handle some of those jobs. "So is he out a lot?"

"It has been a long time since any of us have seen Him," said Conner as he hugged his knees and stared into the fire Dean had made.

Those words resonated and virtually mirrored Dean's description of his own father. Normal people would be incapable of detecting the barest hint of sadness and longing hidden in his friend's voice, but Dean heard it. "Ever think he's keeping secrets from you guys? Or just, you know, not tell the whole story about what he does?" he said.

"No one can grasp the full extent of His intentions, but we follow His orders without question." said Conner, not breaking his gaze from the flames.

Translation: nobody knew what was exactly going on and they did not talk about it.

"What did he tell you to do?" asked Dean.

"He has not given me a direct order, though I obey the rules and commands He had passed on to my elder brothers." said Conner.

"Family business then." commented Dean, and he could not help the bittersweet smirk forming on his mouth. He had spent so much time thinking of how different Conner was to them, whereas in reality, they were more alike than he ever expected. It was both comforting and tragic.

Then, the most foolish thought entered Dean's mind, even more foolish than his decision to enter the haunted house. "Hey, can I tell you a secret?" he asked Conner, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Conner's eyes softened and he nodded. "Of course." he said.

"Promise not to tell anyone, alright? Not even Sammy." said Dean. He glimpsed at where his brother was and was a little relieved to see him playing with the other children and their bobble-heads.

"I promise." said Conner, and in spite of his gullible tendencies, he appeared strong and wise in ways that should never sculpt the features of a mere child. It was like he was older, much older.

So Dean told Conner his story, about the dad who spent more time battling monsters than with what remained of his family, about the constant moving, about his sacred duty to look after his brother above everything else. Of course, Dean did not recount every detail; he simply told Conner the gist of things. He left out the part about his mother, however, because even that was far too personal and distressing to share.

Throughout his tale, Conner listened without saying a word. There was sorrow in his eyes, but there was also compassion and admiration, and Dean wondered how anybody could admire this sort of life.

"Sam doesn't even really know why we keep moving around all the time." said Dean. He noted that his brother was still with the children, even though the street vendor and gone off to another area of the park. They were all spinning around in circles for some reason, like it was a weird game. "I mean, come on, just look at him. He's just a kid! He shouldn't deal with any of this crap."

"But you're just a kid too." said Conner.

Dean curled his fingers into a fist. "It's my job. I gotta look after him." he said.

They sat under the tree in silence for a minute. The fire was dying and they were almost out of marshmallows.

"You're a good person, Dean." said Conner.

This was such a chick-flick moment, but Dean let it slide for now. "Just don't tell Sammy that. Don't wanna look like a freaking Care Bear in front of him." he muttered.

Dean got up and extinguished the fire by kicking dirt into it, then scattered the burnt sticks so as to minimize the chance of flames accidentally rekindling. "Listen, you've put up with me and Sam for this long, which is seriously an achievement given our record." he told Conner without a second thought. "And I get that you wanna go back home, but… I just want you to know that you can stay with us for as long you want."

Conner's eyes widened at him. "Are you sure?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure I'm sure. No offense, but you won't last a day on your own." said Dean, chuckling a bit. Then he became thoughtful. "I'll talk to dad, and then we'll help you find your family, okay?" he said.

His friend did not smile; instead, his blue eyes seemed to shine brighter, as if they were betraying the feeling of camaraderie and thankfulness Conner was experiencing. "Thank you." he said quietly.

It was in Dean's nature to help those who truly needed it; for all his tough demeanor, he cared about people, probably too much. Tonight, on the other hand, he was getting sick of the chick-flick moments, and what better way to break that up than with some good old-fashioned mindless violence.

"Hey, wanna find out who'll win in a fight between Batman and Superman?" Dean asked competitively.

The bewilderment, plus a bit of terror, became known on Conner's face. "I don't – "

"Too late." All of a sudden, Dean tackled Conner to the ground and proceeded to put his friend in a variety of locks. "The Dark Knight takes no prisoners!"

As they scuffled in the dark, Sam returned and he was thrilled with what was going on. "Cool! Wrestling!" he exclaimed.

Dean and Conner were too busy struggling against one another to notice Sam's arrival. Sam decided to take this opportunity and use it for his advantage. He went a couple of paces back, aimed himself at Dean and Conner's chaotic pile, then launched himself at them for the fluffiest body slam they will ever experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shtriga reference: 1x18, A.K.A "Something Wicked".
> 
> I did a bit of research and found out that Sam and Dean's ages at 1x18 were really close to their ages in this story, so I thought it would be interesting to tie that up.
> 
> Also, Sam doesn't find out about the whole hunter thing until he's 7, as shown by that Christmas episode. So Sam still has 2 years to go here.


	14. The Change is Day to Night

**6:14 AM**

"…nngghhh."

"You either haul ass or I'm kicking you all the way there." said Dean.

It was morning. More specifically, it was the morning after Halloween, which meant that a lot of the people in the town were at home nursing severe stomach aches, tooth pains, and the occasional hangover, leaving the streets deserted yet peaceful in a way. After the noise and riotous activities last night, it was nice to have a bit of reprieve, and the fact that it was rather early gave Dean the feeling that the world was theirs for the taking, for now anyway.

Of course, he could not take full advantage of the practically empty blocks since he had to drag Conner along. His friend was groggy, for lack of a better term, and half of the time Dean felt as if he was pulling a stubborn, groaning sack of rocks. Actually, a sack of rocks sounded pleasant about now; at least a sack of rocks would not complain its way through several streets, demanding either to be returned to bed or to curl up in the nearest shade. The only thing missing now was for Dean to drag Conner's face on the pavement itself, what with his friend's sheer unwillingness to move forward.

"I don't think it's more effective to haul – " started Conner.

"Will you just hurry? The sun's already in the sky and someone might throw away what I've set up." said Dean, getting a little grumpy at the pace they were going.

That sparked Conner's interest. "What did you set up?" he asked.

"You'll see." said Dean as they reached another block.

"Where are you taking me?" inquired Conner, who was more alert.

" _You'll see_."

When the butcher shop came into view, Dean knew that they were almost there and picked up speed. It struck him that Conner's stiff movements could be attributed to the wrestling match they had last night. His friend must still be a little sore and maybe that was one reason why Conner did not want to go out so early.

Beside the shop was an alley and Dean led them into it. Ten empty bottles and tin cans were arranged in a row and stood on an old, scarred wooden plank, which was supported by a couple of cinderblocks. Dean was glad that he managed to find them all in such a short time. During this hour, the butcher shop on their right was still closed, so that meant they can carry out their business without some guy yelling at them for trespassing on his property. If he guessed correctly, this alley was where the deliveries would be taken in and out.

Conner released himself from Dean's grip and walked over to the cans with a scrutinizing gaze. "Is this supposed to be some form of mediocre artwork?" he asked.

"Medi– ?"Dean let it go for now and went next to him. " _No_ , it's not art. It's target practice!" he exclaimed.

"What for?" asked Conner, tilting his head sideways.

"To open up a beauty parlor. What do you think, genius?" replied Dean. He turned toward him and every trace of humor and sarcasm vanished. "If you're gonna stay with us for a while, dad needs to like you. And if dad knows that you're good at hunter stuff, he's bound to let you stick around a little longer." he said.

"I thought you're going to help me get home?" stated Conner.

Dean actually felt a bit of disappointment at those words, though he did not show it. To be honest, he was getting used to having Conner around, so much that he had even grown to like seeing him everyday. Sammy was good, reliable company; he was his brother and there was no changing Conner was a friend, someone who could have stepped out of Dean's life if he really wanted to, yet decided to stay.

"We will, we will. Just… you just never know, you know? I mean, what if it takes us months to get you back? Dad doesn't like dead weight hanging around. You understand?" said Dean.

"I understand." answered Conner.

And for an instant, Dean pictured Conner and himself hunting alongside his dad in the future, reloading ammunition, discussing strategies, bickering in some forsaken wasteland about which diner had better-tasting burgers. As much as it bothered him leaving Sam in the dark, Dean cannot handle his brother knowing the truth, that everywhere they go their dad's well-being was constantly on the line because he was fighting monsters, that they would never have a shot of having a normal life since this was something that cannot go away. They did not have a lot, but Dean will do everything in his power so that Sam can keep his innocence for as long as possible. This was why his brother was not here with them.

"Okay, good." Dean put his hands together and rubbed them vigorously for what was to come. "Those cans over there? Your first exercise is to knock 'em down using a slingshot."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slingshot. It was not his; like the cans and bottles, he found the materials scattered about the streets and assembled them into something useful. Halloween had always been one of the crazier holidays, and people tend to bring some weird stuff with them. This would be Conner's own slingshot, his first official weapon.

Conner took the slingshot into his hands and stared at it curiously, and for a second he looked displeased.

"Don't get me wrong; I've seen how good your throwing aim was. It's that, this time, you're gonna be aiming with a weapon, not just with your arms." explained Dean, thinking that maybe Conner thought his skills were not enough.

He gestured at Conner's new slingshot and brought it to eye level. "Using your hands is easy and all, but sooner or later you're gonna get tired and your aim might mess up. Plus, your throwing power won't always be the same all day." said Dean, trying to channel his dad's knowledge and military reasoning. "With something like a slingshot, you can aim at farther targets. And you won't be as tired when using one." he continued.

Conner stared at his slingshot for a moment. "Can't I just use blades?" he inquired.

That was kind of a surprising comment; Dean had never pegged Conner to go for sharp pointy things. "Blades are way too fancy for you." he said.

"I quite like blades." remarked Conner as simply as if he was talking about his favorite sandwich.

"No blades. They're too – what's the word?"

"Awe-inspiring?"

" _Noticeable_." said Dean. "No blades for you." he firmly concluded.

"How about a knife?" prodded Conner.

"No."

"Scissors?"

Dean was not even sure if he was serious with that. He imagined Conner running around with scissors in a graveyard and attempting to cut a ghost. It was messed up."Not unless you're battling origami monsters." he replied.

He thought that would be the end of it.

"What about a sword?"

"Would you just practice using your slingshot?" snapped Dean.

Conner's posture slumped in defeat. He looked at his slingshot then gave Dean an impassive stare. "There's no ammunition." he muttered.

"Well, go find some. That's part of training." said Dean.

"If I had a blade, I wouldn't have to look for ammunition." Conner murmured as he searched the alley for rocks.

A minute later, he came back with a handful of small stones and a bent nail. Conner studied the contents of his hand for a few seconds, then his slingshot in the other. A look gradually manifested on his face, one that Dean could tell was hesitation, as if Conner was not sure of what he was doing anymore.

"Go on." said Dean, motioning to the bottles and cans that were ever so slowly acquiring dust.

A quiet sigh left Conner's system, marked only by the subdued lowering of his shoulders and the slight squint of his eyes. He turned to face his targets and readied himself until he felt to be in the right position. He got a stone, placed it in the slingshot, and aimed.

It missed.

Conner picked up another stone and flung it again. The stone hit the wall.

The third stone was ejected. It crashed into the water spout by the side.

The fourth stone hit a bunch of weeds growing along the crack between the wall and the ground.

The fifth stone collided into the butcher shop's back door.

The sixth hit an innocent pigeon that had decided to rest in the alley.

"If a monster had been coming at us, we would be dead already. Ten times."grouched Dean, watching the poor bird fly away in a panic.

"I'm not used to controlling this device." huffed Conner.

"Try again." said Dean.

Conner did so. The stone bounced off the wall and struck Dean's leg. Dean made a loud yelp and half-stumbled to the ground.

"I can't aim properly with this." stated Conner as he lowered his slingshot and turned his back to the cans and bottles.

"Seriously?" Dean cried out. He massaged the sore spot in his leg before unceremoniously snatching Conner's slingshot from him. How can Conner miss even a single target? Certainly the slingshot itself was not to blame; after all, Dean had made it himself, so there was no way the thing can malfunction. Perhaps it would be best to show his friend how to handle a weapon of sophisticated craftsmanship.

Dean raised the slingshot and aimed it at one of the bottles. "It's easy! All you gotta do is lock on the target and – " The stone flew forward…

…there was the nerve-wracking sound of glass shattering, yet it did not come from the bottles.

"Were you targeting the window?" asked Conner.

For what seemed like a year, Dean stared at the shop's broken window in stunned horror before processing what had happened. His gaze fell on the slingshot and it dawned on him that the elastic band was not correctly adjusted, and that a section of the wood was apparently flimsy, which meant that the aim would always be off no matter how talented a person much for sophisticated craftsmanship.

Suddenly, a man emerged from the back door; his face was a livid shade of ripe cranberries and his mouth was set in a vicious snarl, similar to a wild animal preparing to rip its prey apart. The man, most likely the owner of the shop, pinpointed Dean and Conner and let out an angry yell.

" _Run!_ " screamed Dean.

They both dashed out of the alley, neither brave nor willing enough to glance over their shoulder. The mad slapping of their footsteps echoed throughout the empty streets; their pace quickened with every building they passed and it became hard to distinguish if their heartbeats were going faster or if it was the other way around.

"This never would've happened if I had a blade." argued Conner.

Dean threw him a glare. "Oh shut up!"

**9:48 AM**

Later, after passing onto a bewildered Sam the wisdom of carrying a supply decent elastic bands so as to avoid infuriating people who possess giant meat cleavers, the three of them ended up in an arcade. Judging by the number of kids running around everywhere, Dean guessed that the town's school was still in a holiday mood and classes were still cancelled. Either that or everyone here was playing hooky. Nevertheless, that was not their problem.

Within their first few minutes inside, Dean had been teaching Conner how to play Pac-Man, a game he was lucky to get his hands on since there was a lot of people in the arcade. Since their training session did not go as planned earlier, he had to think of other ways to help his friend hone his hunting skills. Pac-Man ought to teach Conner basic hand-eye coordination, as well as strategic planning.

"See? Easy as pie." said Dean, backing away from the controls and letting Conner have them. He had just finished another level and, surely, Conner should know how to play by now.

"No windows will be broken?" asked Conner, and his voice was so flat that Dean had no idea if he was joking or being completely serious. A playful glimmer lit up Conner's eyes and his mouth twitched into the barest smirk a second afterward, and then Dean knew that his friend was being a smart-ass.

"If you wanna keep anything else from breaking, I suggest you play and work on your sense of strategy." said Dean, only partially concealing the threatening tone in his words.

"I'm certain my strategy is careful enough that I don't break windows." said Conner.

"Bitch." Dean remarked automatically.

The moment the word left his mouth, he realized that this was not Sam he was squabbling with, but he had uttered it anyway. He was aware that it was a demeaning, mocking term, though it can also be an endearing moniker, at least whenever he used it around his brother. It meant that he was close to someone, and that someone was close to him, and that they were both comfortable enough with one another that they could act like uncivilized idiots.

However, Conner shrugged it off as if it was just one more part of the banter and played his round of Pac-Man. After observing him for a few minutes and saw that he was doing well, Dean left Conner's side to look for his brother. He wondered if Sam had gotten into any trouble, or had at least been the source of jealousy amongst the rest of the kids because of his advanced talents; after all, Dean had taught him a couple of techniques when it came to games.

When Dean located him, Sam was vigorously clobbering the moles in the Whack-A-Mole game. He was jumping all over the place and proclaiming unintelligible death cries once in a while; he was so 'energetically focused' on his game that some people were backing away at the sight of him.

"Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! _Die!_ " Sam shouted as he brought the soft mallet down multiple times.

Dean deemed it safe to approach his brother when a round was over. "Sammy, I'm pretty sure that those things are dead." chuckled Dean.

"I just wanna knock 'em down good." replied Sam, panting as he glanced up at him.

"What happened to rainbows and happiness and world peace?" Dean inquired.

"I wanna win lots of tickets so that I can get the toy ship." said Sam, and he pointed at the front desk where the prizes were displayed. At the topmost shelf was a war ship with authentic-looking cannons and crew; its sails were snowy white and the small wooden boards were robust and glossy.

Dean almost hated ruining Sam's wearying achievements. Almost. "You do know this game doesn't give out tickets?" said Dean. He used his foot to tap at the bottom of the game to indicate that it had no ticket dispensers.

The mallet fell out of Sam's hands and rolled on the floor. "Aw, man." he moaned.

"There's a ton of other games that actually give out tickets," consoled Dean, putting his arm around Sam's shoulder to steer them to another section of the arcade.

"I'm too short to reach the controls." Sam griped.

"And that is why you need to eat your vegetables." said Dean. He ruffled his brother's hair and did not stop until Sam tried to squirm away from him, a grin hiding underneath his untidy mop. "Come on, there's gotta be _one_ game here you can reach." said Dean as they explored the arcade.

They searched for nearly fifteen minutes, and so far all the games they had seen were occupied and it appeared that, most probably, the players would not be giving up their spots any time soon. Soon, they were beginning to attract attention, the kind that made passersby feel sorry for them because they were wandering aimlessly in search for a game to play. Also, it made the other players feel smug and powerful since they had a game to play and they did not. Dean was one step away from beating the cocky smiles off their sweaty faces.

Eventually, someone came up to them: a guy who was maybe thirteen or fourteen, with a tiny girl holding his hand. Dean surmised that she was the guy's younger sister, and that she was around six.

"Hey, you guys looking for a game?" asked the guy.

"Yeah," said Dean.

"My little sister and I just finished. Just turn the next corner. Streak and Soar." said the guy as his hand abruptly gestured to their left.

Sam was elated and was dragging Dean toward the following corner in less than a second. "Thanks." he called out.

Streak and Soar. Dean had never heard of that game before, albeit he was excited at the possibilities. Perhaps it was a game with fighter planes battling and crashing into each other, or even alien space ships waging war against the Earth. Maybe they had to pilot a plane like it was a real one.

As they found the game, Dean had never even entertained the notion that the game might include butterflies. It was pink and had smiling butterflies populating its surface; flowers that were made to resemble paint palettes formed a sort of garden at the base. Exaggerated, overly-sparkly stars lined the sides of the game, and the tune that barfed out of its speakers was sweeter and more obnoxious than the combination of a music box and preschool songs.

"Aw, no. It's a chick game!" exclaimed Dean, revolted. He should have known this would be the case; no one in their proper mind would bring their little sister to the arcade unless she wanted to really play something.

"But, Dean, it looks nice!" said Sam.

They were not doing this. There was no way in hell that he was letting Sam, or any other respectable guy, play that stupid, girly, hideous –

" _Conner?_ "

Conner briefly looked up from his game of Streak and Soar. "Hello." he greeted them. He pressed a few buttons and the sound of giggling and shrill cheering could be heard, like the butterflies were absolutely delighted at what was taking place.

"See, even Conner likes it!" said Sam, rushing over to Conner's side to watch him play.

Dean stared at the scene before him in shock. "What happened to Pac-Man?" he asked, outraged.

"I got bored. It was a repetitive cycle." replied Conner without tearing his gaze from the screen. He pushed another button and the sound of something splashing echoed across their tiny area. The light from the game shone on Conner's face, and Dean was horrified to see that it was rainbow-colored, as if Conner had been hit in the face with the actual thing.

"Hey, Conner, I get to play after you, alright?" asked Sam eagerly.

"Alright." said Conner.

"Yaaay!"

"Are you guys for real?" Dean cried out.

"This game is more strategic than Pac-Man. This involves precise aiming and timing, the knowledge of rationing your supplies properly, fortifying your – "

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." said Dean, wishing to hear none of Conner's ridiculous explanations. He chose to sulk in a corner, as far away as he could get from the perky laughter and gaudy colors of butterflies and flowers without losing sight of Sam and Conner.

Despite his initial loathing, Dean gradually became aware of the fact that he was smiling, that his heart was warming at the sight of Conner and Sam spending time together. It was not that he was starting to approve of their gaming choices (dear God, he did not!), but it was because they were bonding. They acknowledged one another and enjoyed the presence of the other; they got along rather well and Dean sometimes had to remind himself that he was not Conner's sole friend, and that was fine with him.

This was a long shot – the most far-fetched wishful thinking Dean had ever thought up ever since wanting his mom back – though he found himself hoping anyway, hoping beyond hope that Conner stay longer with them. Conner could teach Sam the things Dean would be unable to, or simply decided not to, like with the silly game they were currently playing.

Conner was patient, understanding, and kind; he was naïve and curious in a way that would connect easily with Sam, who was just as wide-eyed about the world. Yet Conner was also brave and loyal, and the reason why those traits appealed so much to Dean was because they matched his own. With the life of a Winchester, the most important people they could ever meet were the sort that could be relied on, someone who had their back, someone who accepted the brutal flaws and embraced the fierceness of their spirit, someone who understood what being broken felt like without letting the cruelty of the world bring them down, someone who chose to _do_ something so that life can be a bit better.

Maybe Conner can be part of the family.

Maybe Dean was getting his hopes up.

For the meantime, Conner will teach Sam how to paint the butterflies in Streak and Soar. Later, Dean might give him the phone number for a pizza delivery so that Conner's possibly odd choices in flavor and toppings would surprise them all at night. Then perhaps Dean can convince Sam to help him prepare what Conner needed to say when their dad returned. Their dad never took well to new people, so it was crucial that Conner would have a good impression on him.

Of course, that was for later. Right now, Dean will watch them paint butterflies and try not to gag or cringe too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Streak and Soar is a game I made up and, to my knowledge, is entirely fictional.


	15. Promise Me that You'll Leave the Light On

**8:12 PM**

"See that one over there?" asked Sam, pointing skyward.

Dean shifted in his spot on the blanket, as if the slight repositioning might make all the difference and reveal the secrets of the stars, sort of like bending one's head at a funny angle to make sense of a painting. "That one?" guessed Dean as he gestured to the east.

"No, _that_ one!" said Sam.

" _That's_ an airplane."

"Oh. No, wait, it's that one! See it?"

It started out with ordering pizza, or more specifically, it started out with _Conner_ ordering pizza. To Dean, it had been entertaining to watch Conner panic while on the phone because of the 'someone trapped inside the small device' issue.

"How can we summon food if the person who makes it is imprisoned?" Conner had blurted out.

Once that had been cleared up, Conner went crazy with the toppings. From the simple and classic pepperoni, ham, and pineapples, he then fired off words that did not even sound like anything edible. Random spices from who knew what planet they even grew on, cheeses with complicated names despite the fact that they were _just cheese_ and did not need a name with five or more syllables, vegetables and meat that would hardly seem to work well with each other…

There had been a second wherein Dean wanted to snatch the phone away from Conner since they might later eat a pizza that cannot be technically considered as a pizza anymore. But he let his friend finish the order anyway, because it was his first time and he wanted him to experience it. Besides, if ever the pizza turned out to be mutant spawn from the depths of hell, Conner would have to eat the whole thing.

Before the pizza arrived, Sam had similar concerns as Dean, although he had an idea: eat the pizza in a place that was dark. That way, none of them will have any idea as to what the pizza would look like, which can reduce the anxiety a little bit. Or increase it. Either option would be fun, according to him.

Sam suggested just turning the lights off in their motel room. Conner – though unaware that the brothers had reason to believe that the pizza he created could be dangerous in one way or another – had said that he wanted to be on the rooftop since the stars were particularly bright tonight.

Normally, Dean would not mind heading up to the roof. But after what happened the last time, when Conner had wandered there ( _and nearly died_ ) while sleepwalking, he was hesitant. Sam, of course, still did not know about that and Dean had no intention to tell him. The same went with Conner. He would have held firmly onto his opinion if Sam and Conner had not used a double combination of sad puppy eyes at him. One day, he would have to learn how to overcome that.

For now, he, Sam, and Conner were lying on the rooftop. The night sky was sprinkled with stars and it was as if the biggest connect-the-dots game was spread out above them. The blankets they had brought with them kept them warm and Dean could almost pretend that they were out camping in some random forest, except the cushiony grass was rough concrete and there was no bonfire. Plus, a car alarm would go off every so often, which was enough to ruin the mood. Thankfully, the pizza turned out surprisingly delicious.

Dean glanced at Conner one more time to check if he was still there, and he breathed out a tiny sigh when he saw that his friend had not so much as moved (aside from when he would reach for a slice of pizza and slowly much on it). Conner reminded Dean of a soldier sometimes with all that stillness and perfect rigidness, even when he was lying down.

Despite getting that aura from him, Dean still made sure that Conner was as far away from the building's edge as possible, just in case. So far, being here was not triggering anything from Conner; although, for all Dean knew, Conner could be simply doing a terrific job of hiding his thoughts.

"What am I supposed to be looking for again?" Dean asked Sam.

"An octopus with an arfo wig – " started Sam.

"I think you mean _afro_ ," corrected Dean.

"And it's eating a banana split!"

Dean searched the sky for a long time. "You lost me at afro." he said.

"I'm still not sure what we're doing." commented Conner as he finished another slice.

"It's an octopus and a banana split! How's that hard?" exclaimed Sam, obviously upset that no one can find his stupid octopus.

Dean can practically feel the bitch-face his brother was pulling. " _You_ can see it. That's what counts. At least that big ol' fish knows you know about him." he said, both in an effort to make Sam feel better and to shut him up.

"Actually, the octopus is not a fish – " stated Conner.

"Just eat your pizza, Conner. It'll be simpler that way." said Dean, sounding a bit amused.

Conner took another slice but did not immediately bite into it. "I heard an elderly woman say that this is unhealthy and can cause many ailments." he said.

"Yeah?" responded Dean, uninterested.

"There _is_ an unsettling amount of grease here." said Conner as he twisted his pizza around to examine it more closely.

Great. Just what the world needed, another budding health freak.

"But, as you say, screw it." said Conner, and he took a big bite out of his pizza.

"There we go." chuckled Dean. He had been worried there for a while. Now that the threat was over, he turned his attention back to the stars.

"Hey, I think I see a – " Dean suddenly stopped himself and tried to hide the flinch his body just made. "…a turtle." he lied.

There was not really a turtle up there, or at least not one he could see. The truth was that he saw the outline of a shtriga, bent over a bed and sucking up some poor kid's soul. It was not real, he knew it was not real, he knew that his mind was merely playing tricks on him, some whacked-up trick that had been bothering him for weeks. Dean figured this must be one of those post-trauma things and he really wished it would stop.

"Really? Is it next to the octopus?" asked Sam.

"You tell me." said Dean, because he wished he could see that harmless little turtle too.

Dean bit into his pizza, hoping the weird yet scrumptious blend of flavors would distract him or make him think of any other random subject. Unfortunately, the pizza did little to console him. Their dad should be back soon; if not tonight, then tomorrow, or the next day.

He should be ecstatic about this, but things have changed drastically ever since they escaped the shtriga. Lately, his relationship with his dad was strained and difficult; though, he hoped things would change when his dad returned from his recent hunt. For Conner's sake, Dean hoped things would be better.

Apparently, Conner and Sam were still talking about the stars when Dean pulled himself out of his musings.

"I see seventeen million orbs of burning gas with varying temperatures." said Conner.

There was a few seconds of intense contemplation from Sam. "…huh?"

"You're staring too hard." remarked Dean lightly. He reached for the pizza box and was perplexed to feel the lack of… _anything_ in in there. He sat up and discovered that the box had nothing in it. "Where'd it go?" he asked.

"What?" piped up Sam.

"The last slice,"

"Slice of what?"

Dean was torn between rolling his eyes and punching something. " _Pizza_." he gritted out.

His brother got up and checked the box as well. "Did you eat it?" he asked.

"How could I have eaten it when I'm asking where the hell it is?" snapped Dean.

"I don't know; you're weird like that." replied Sam with a shrug.

" _You're_ weird!" said Dean.

"Meanie."

"Pipsqueak."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Without warning, Conner let out a mighty burp that managed to silence their bickering for a good whole minute.

"Forgive me." Conner muttered sheepishly.

Now that the pizza mystery was solved, Dean and Sam settled back onto their blankets. "If that burp wasn't so epic, I would be pummeling you right now." chuckled Dean.

"We should have a burp contest." suggested Sam happily.

"Remind me when we go for burritos." said Dean.

"Ooh, maybe a fart contest too!" added Sam.

"Dude, gross." laughed Dean.

After that, none of them said anything for a while. It was actually sort of nice to simply look up at the stars and bask in each other's presence (which was of course not a chick-flick moment). Dean cannot remember the last time he felt so at peace, because for a brief couple of minutes, everything was alright with the world. He had a belly full of pizza, and the air was alive with a crisp evening breeze and not with the stench of a stagnant motel room. Sam was not in any life-threatening danger and was even softly humming ' _Twinkle, Twinkle, little Star_ ' near him. And Conner was there, _really there_ – a friend who chose to stay.

Below, the motel's street lamps were going off one by one, which meant the manager was closing the place down for the night. The pleasantly dim environment was quickly plunged into darkness and all three of them held their breath for a second.

"It's kinda dark now." mumbled Sam, and there was a hint of terror in his voice.

Dean considered going back to their room since the non-stop whining might begin at any second. Then, there was the sound of something snapping, and a heartbeat later there was a surreal blue glow beside him.

"Is this better?" asked Conner as he held up his lit glow stick.

"I thought you're only supposed to use that on a special occasion?" said Dean.

"I believe this counts."replied Conner.

Dean said nothing because, in a way, tonight was indeed special.

So while the rest of the neighborhood was swallowed up by the dark, the three of them had their own little bubble of light around them, their own tiny world where no trouble would ever bother them. It was almost like they had a secret club and they were free to do whatever they wanted, and only the stars would know about it, about them.

"The world is so strange." said Conner.

Sam turned over in his blanket to face him. "What do you mean?" he inquired.

"Down here, there's… unhealthy pizza to eat and fuzzy blankets to lie on. Up there… infinite galaxies full of stars." said Conner. He had that look on his face, like mere words were not enough to express the feeling of awe swelling up inside of him, that the world was bizarre and wonderful yet his tongue cannot produce the right descriptions.

But Dean got the message; he understood what his friend was trying to say. In life, there were simple things and there were extraordinary things, things that can be touched everyday and things that might not ever be held. There were things that can last for only a short time and be forgotten like they never existed, and there were things that were so awesome that they will be remembered forever. There was dust and there was starlight; there was pizza and there was the universe. And they were all a part of life, just like the bunch of kids who were lying on the rooftop with nowhere else to be.

"You can pretend you're holding a star, Conner." said Sam, motioning at the glow stick.

"That's impossible." remarked Conner, but he was smiling anyway because it was a nice thought.

Although, looking at him now, Dean could almost convince himself that Conner indeed had a star in his hands. He did not know why, but there was something about Conner that made him seem unusual. It was not the bad sort of 'unusual;' more like the amazing sort, amazing as if it was possible for him to hold a star or do some other impossible feats.

"Dean, I've almost forgot," Conner put his glow stick down and searched for something in his pockets. When his hand emerged, he was presenting a Batarang to Dean.

"No way." gasped Dean. If recalled correctly, he had left that in the haunted house when he used it at the pretend-ghosts.

"I picked it up before we left that house. I'm sorry it's not in better condition." said Conner.

"Nah, this is…" Dean did not know what to say. "Thanks, buddy." he said.

As he got the Batarang, he noticed the band-aid on Conner's hand, the one he had put there nearly a week ago when they first met. "You still got that band-aid on?"

Conner stared at his hand as if realizing that it was still there. "I'm not sure when I should remove it." he answered.

"That cut should be all healed up by now." Dean leaned forward and carefully peeled it off, revealing unbroken skin. "See? All better." he stated.

Conner flexed his hand a few times to test it, and the tiniest smile graced his face when he found himself satisfied.

"And if you need any more, you've got your own supply, alright?" added Dean, referring to his 'birthday' present.

"I'll remember that." said Conner, and he made it sound like a promise.

Sam sighed, interrupting their conversation. "I wish there's some shooting stars tonight." he said.

"Why? You gonna wish for a mermaid?" joked Dean.

His brother ignored him. "I wanna wish that Conner wouldn't have to go away." he said.

Dean and Conner stared at him in silence.

"Sammy, he's got a family." said Dean.

"But they left him!" Sam exclaimed.

"Dad leaves us a lot too!" yelled Dean. He felt both ashamed and glad to have screamed those words out of his lungs.

All of a sudden, the soft and carefree atmosphere became cold and brittle. Dean was just thankful that Sam was not crying or running off.

"Do you really wanna go back, Conner?" asked Sam despondently.

Conner was staring at the floor, at his glow stick, and did not open his mouth until after some time. "Dean is not wrong. They are my family." he started. He lifted his head and stared at both Sam and Dean. "But… I will miss you. I will never forget you both." he said. Conner bit his lip and lowered his gaze again. "Sometimes I wish I didn't have to go either." he muttered.

Dean could not shake off the feeling that he was responsible, or at least partly responsible, for the ruined peace of the night. "I think we still have some leftover soda in the fridge. Wanna get 'em, Sammy?" he said.

For his part, Sam appeared to have no intention of fetching any sodas. But an order was an order (even though it did not sound like one) and he was soon getting to his feet. "Okay." said Sam.

When Dean was sure that his brother had gone down the stairs, he took a deep breath and faced Conner. He was a bit nervous for what he was about to say next, probably because it bordered along chick-flick territory, although it was most likely due to the fact he had been thinking about this all day, attempting to form the proper words and rehearsing it in his mind several times.

"You know, when you go back, and your family's being a bunch of douchewads again, you can always… come here. To us." he said ineptly.

He expected Conner to ask him why he would ever seek out their dysfunctional, tumbleweed family in the future; yet, Conner did not. Rather, Conner's gaze locked with Dean's and it was as if he was examining his soul.

"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" asked Conner.

That was… unexpected. "Okay." replied Dean. "Yeah, sure."

Conner was quiet for a moment, as if uncertain if he should go through with this. "I want to tell you my name. My real name." he said seriously.

At that, Dean's eyes widened. "I thought you said you're not supposed to – ?"

"I know. But you've done so much for me. The least I could do is to repay you with my honesty." said Conner.

Neither of them said anything after that, simply waiting for the other to speak up.

Finally, Conner made the first move.

"It's Ca– "

" _Dean!_ " Sam was shouting from somewhere in the stairwell, and the echoes of his voice were soon replaced by the frantic noise of feet running up the stairs. " _Dean!_ It's dad's car! He's here!" cried out Sam as he emerged onto the rooftop, out of breath.

Dad came back? Dean must have been so distracted that he did not even hear the Impala's engine rumbling its way into the parking lot. "Come on!" Dean told Conner.

They would have to pick this conversation up some other time. Right now, their dad was here. Dean and Conner followed Sam downstairs and they might as well have been running in a marathon with the speed they were going. While Sam raced straight toward the parking lot, Dean led Conner into their motel room.

"Wait right here, Conner. I gotta talk to dad first. Make sure he won't freak." said Dean. If Conner went with them to the parking lot right away, their dad might have a fit and Dean would not have time to explain the situation anymore.

Conner nodded and went to the sofa. "Alright." he said.

The door was closed and Dean ran to the Impala.

**8:51 PM**

Barely a minute after the door closed and Dean disappeared, the lights inside the room flickered.

"Castiel?"

Castiel turned around and was utterly surprised to find Balthazar – from Castiel's original time period, not this current era's version – in the room with him, albeit he did not possess a vessel.

"Balthazar?" he responded incredulously.

"Castiel!" Balthazar exclaimed, and his joy caused his light to glow brighter for an instant. "I… We've – We've been looking everywhere for you! Or in this case, it's every _when_." he said, laughing a bit to himself. "Funny how creation works."

"How are you even capable of being here?" asked Castiel.

Instead of answering his question, Balthazar hovered closer to Castiel as if he had just registered his entire presence. In spite of being in his pure incorporeal form, Castiel could plainly see the amused, yet slightly bewildered, expression on his brother's face. "Is that really your vessel?" scoffed Balthazar.

"Balthazar," started Castiel.

"You look more pathetic than usual." he sniggered.

"Balthazar!"

"I was joking! You actually look rather adorable. Have any old women fawned over you yet?" Balthazar chortled.

Castiel shot him an icy glare.

As Balthazar slowly backed into the center of the living room, he smirked one last time at Castiel's vessel. "I got here the same way you got flicked to this sorry muck in time, except with authorization." he said. Then, his cheery appearance gave way to somberness. "Three garrisons have already been dispatched, and everybody's looking for precious little you." he stated.

" _Three garrisons_?" Castiel repeated. This was unheard of; this was unbelievable.

"At least that's how many were sent out when I left. Not sure if they doubled their efforts or anything at this point." said Balthazar as he casually roamed the motel room, scanning for anything remotely interesting. "You're causing a couple of nasty rifts in the fabric of time, you know that? You're not supposed to be in this time period, or this version of you anyway. It's a miracle reality hasn't imploded yet." he said.

Castiel sank deeper into the sofa, absorbing the information carefully. That might explain why his powers were not functioning the way they should, and why he cannot make contact with any of his siblings from the past or the present.

"Well, enough chat. We'll get this sorted out when we go back." said Balthazar.

"Back?" asked Castiel.

"To our proper time period," said Balthazar as if he was stating something extremely obvious.

When Castiel did not seem either thrilled or grateful at those words, Balthazar blurted out, "Castiel, you're not considering actually _staying_ in this, this… where in God's name _are_ we?"

There was a commotion outside and Castiel knew that the Winchester brothers and their father were about to come through the door. "But… Dean. And Sam."

Balthazar surrounded Castiel and prepared to take off. "Whatever those are, they're not important. The longer we stay here, the more damage time suffers." he said.

"Can't I say goodbye – ?" said Castiel desperately.

"I'm sorry. We have to leave _now_."

**8:50 PM**

"Dad! _Dad_!"

John turned around; his jacket was severely rumpled like it had been crammed in a tight corner at the backseat for days, and was only roughly fished out to cover up the splotches of blood and whatever nasty wounds that were acquired from killing monsters. Dean knew that his dad was more beaten up than what he showed, and that his dad would always hide the gore and injuries from Sam, and sometimes from Dean too.

"Boys," greeted John with a tired rasp. "Everything alright?"

Dean fisted his hands like he was going to strike something down. It was now or never. "Dad, I need to tell you something," he said.

After a final glance at Sam, who nodded at him in support, he started to relay what had happened over the past few days. They walked across the parking lot, though they did not get very far and Dean never managed to finish what he had to say.

"You let someone in the room?" asked his dad, his anger starting to boil.

Dean tried to hold his ground. "Yeah, but dad – "

"I told you not to talk to anyone." John snapped.

"I – "

"Haven't you learned anything from what happened with the shtriga?" he hissed, intimidating and furious. John was striving to keep his voice down since Sam was nearby, not because he did not want him to see him like this, but because Sam was still oblivious to the hunter life. Regardless, even with his voice lowered, Dean was frozen on the asphalt as an entire wave of emotions drowned him.

By the time Dean had shaken most of the shock off, his dad was already turning the doorknob of their room.

"Dad, wait!" he yelled after him. It was stupid, almost pointless, but he had to do something. Conner could be in deep trouble.

When Dean and Sam got to the motel room, their dad was searching the entire area for Conner. He was moving aside heavy furniture, harshly pulling away at the curtains, yanking the cupboards and drawers open…

"Where is he?" demanded John.

Dean scanned the room and was alarmed to see that Conner was gone. "He was just here." he said quietly. He had no idea if he was answering his dad's question or reassuring himself of his friend's existence, that Conner was not a mere figment of his imagination.

With his dad here, it was business as usual, back to endless highways and dirt-roads, back to crawling under crummy motel rooms, back to the same desolate lifestyle wherein they had no survive the days instead of really living in them.

This was not right. Conner would not have just run off without saying anything. Conner would not have run off _period_. He was supposed to be with them for some weeks or months until his family was located. He was supposed to join them on that burp contest. He was supposed to be his and Sam's friend.

While Dean was immersed in his thoughts, Sam had pushed past him and began to look for Conner as well. "Conner? Conner?" he worriedly called out.

No one was answering.

Dean half-ran, half-stumbled his way into the bedroom to see if he could find a single trace of Conner. His stuffed toy – the orange monkey from the carnival – was still on the bed, dangling on its edge as if it, too, was wondering where its owner could be. Conner was not in the bedroom. He was not here at all.

"He's gone." muttered Dean, his voice going as thin and insignificant as a lost feather because if he was any louder, then the reality of the situation might hurt more.

Suddenly, John was behind him. "Get your things." he said sternly.

Dean did not move, _could not_ move.

"I said get your things!" said John more forcefully. He had that expression on his face, a mixture of fear and ire that practically screamed at the world that a supernatural creature had gotten the better of him yet again. A ghost that slipped right under his nose. A shtriga that snuck in through the window. A demon that burned down a nursery.

Sam stood beside Dean and held onto his side. "But dad, what about Co– ?"

"We are _leaving_!" John shouted.

In a bluster of movement and confusion, the motel room was emptied of their belongings. The Impala roared to life and was soon traveling at sixty miles per hour, carrying the Winchesters with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this story happens after the shtriga incident, John is… still kinda upset. Really, incredibly upset about life.


	16. Like a Diamond in the Sky

**Present day (10:48 P.M.)**

It had been a long day, and despite the fatigue and the aches on his body caused by nearly getting beaten into a pulp, Dean strolled out of the warm motel room and into the chilly night. Sam, meanwhile, stayed inside to watch TV and munch on the Vietnamese takeout, which tasted a bit weird but it was the only place that was still open and served a relatively warm meal.

Of course, Dean did not wander far as he simply settled for leaning on the wooden railings a few feet from the door. The railings were supposed to add a sort of rustic design to the shoddy motel, but all they ever achieved was to make the building look as if it was trying too hard.

For a second, Dean considered heading back inside to fetch himself a beer, but decided that the nippy air would have to fill up his system for now. It was unusually cold tonight; his fingertips were already beginning to feel numb. Still, he welcomed the sensation and let the coldness filter through his lungs, as if he was inhaling a particularly large mint candy and allowing the coolness to cleanse him somewhat.

"You shouldn't be out in this weather."

Dean was not even startled in the slightest at the unexpected arrival. "And you should really cut back on the surprise entrances." he said to Castiel. He turned around and, sure enough, the angel was there, half-concealed by the shadows. "So, any reason why you just decided to poof in?"

Castiel peeled himself from the spot he had materialized and took a couple of steps toward Dean. "I thought I'd check on you both." he said.

At that, Dean could not help but snort and return his gaze to the parking lot in front of him. "Well, aside from getting our asses handed to us on a bright, shiny platter last week – courtesy of a pack of werewolves – we're peachy." he replied.

"I was busy during that time." said Castiel.

"Yeah, I get it."

Aside from a strong breeze that whistled by, there was a moment of absolute quiet.

"Do you or Sam require healing?" inquired Castiel after a while.

Dean thought about it for a second. "Nah, we're good. Just the usual cuts and bruises, and occasional flesh wound." As he shifted his position, his hand accidentally brushed against a jagged part of the wooden railing and caused a bit of skin to tear. A moment later, a trickle of blood was dripping its way down his wrist.

"And now this." he sighed with the air of someone who believed things could not possibly get worse and was frustrated that life continued to prove him wrong.

Castiel moved closer until he was right beside Dean. "Give me your hand." he said.

"Cas, it's not that serious. It's a scrape!" Dean protested.

"Please give me your hand." he insisted, and his generally impassive voice took on an edge that was both worried and stubborn.

"If you're gonna use your mojo to make up for not – " said Dean.

"I'm not going to use my… mojo." said Castiel.

To describe Dean as perplexed would be a huge understatement. Castiel exercised his angel powers whenever he could, and the only times he would refrain from doing so was when Dean explicitly told him not to, and even then Castiel did not always completely follow through. Regardless, there was something peculiar in the way he had uttered those words; there was a tone that implied that while he was not going to use his powers, he was going to do _something_ anyway.

A small cardboard box was carefully taken from one of the trench-coat's inner pockets and Dean had to wonder how it managed to stay intact given how fragile it appeared. Then, his curiosity quickly focused on what Castiel might have inside it. As an angel, it was hardly necessary for Castiel to be toting around random junk, much less a flimsy box that seemed unlikely to store some mystical relic or anything impressive.

Whatever Dean had been expecting, it was certainly not a pile of colorful band-aids that looked as if they came from a clinic that served preschoolers. While he tried to process the fact that Castiel carried band-aids around, the angel managed to lean in closer and successfully placed a band-aid on Dean's hand.

"A band-aid? Really?" asked Dean incredulously as he held his hand up to better examine it. "And does it have to be a pink one?" he added, slightly annoyed.

"Yes." Castiel answered seriously.

Dean briefly wondered if Castiel was being his usual somber self or if he was starting to develop a sense of humor that bordered along sarcasm. He figured it was the former. Probably.

"What's with the band-aid thing anyway?" he asked.

"I have a whole box of them, which I don't really use." said Castiel.

Dean stared at the pink band-aid on his hand one last time before tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. "And you have a box of band-aids, _why_?" he questioned.

"A little boy gave this to me as a gift." replied Castiel. He put the box back into the folds of his trench coat and casually placed his arms on the wooden railing, imitating, to some extent, Dean's posture a minute ago. "As I recall, he claimed I was a wuss." he said.

A laugh escaped Dean's mouth at the statement. "Kid ain't wrong there." he commented.

Strangely, instead of being nonchalant about it or even a little offended, Castiel smirked. "I believe he meant well, nevertheless. It was his form of lending me his help wherever I may go." he said.

"Cas, you know better than to take things from strangers." said Dean lightly.

"That was no stranger." he said quietly.

For some reason, a flash of concern lit up in the back of Dean's mind. "What, in your off-time you secretly play babysitter?" he joked.

"I was actually the one being taken care of." replied Castiel. He still had his eyes on the parking lot, but it was clear that he was seeing something else, like a distant memory was playing out before him.

Dean did not realize how alarmed he had become until he felt his spine go straightly rigid. "Were you hurt or something?" he asked, rather frantic.

He did not answer immediately. "You could say I was stranded." said Castiel as he resumed gazing at the parking lot.

"Let me get this straight, you somehow got stranded and didn't bother giving us a call?" accused Dean. He was beginning to get angry. Did they not establish this already? Did he not make it clear to him to bother in picking up the phone once in a while, especially during life-threatening situations? He was about to launch a full-on rant when Castiel spoke up.

"It was not necessary." he calmly stated.

Dean wanted to argue, to brush off Castiel's words just to remind again the purpose and value of a cell phone. He wanted to say that, no matter how many times he complained, Dean would welcome him and try to help out as best as he could. However, the manner in which Castiel held himself told Dean to drop the matter because, one, he was standing in one piece next to him and, two, he was a freaking angel of the Lord and he can take care of himself without being fussed over by a human.

So for a while, they stood in silence, and soon Dean returned to staring at the parking lot as well. The desolate sight in front of him was no different than the others he had seen all his life, with the exception of a fountain that stood broken and unused for decades near the entrance.

There was something about that fountain that tugged at a spot in the recesses of his mind, and his gaze lingered on it for a good minute or two. He could not shake off that nudging feeling, until finally the gears clicked into place and he remembered that he had been to this particular motel several years ago. He could not believe that the fountain was still here after all this time, damaged but standing.

"You have something on your mind," said Castiel, as simply as if he was stating that the grass was green.

Dean contemplated on lying, or at least changing the subject, although he supposed it would be pointless. "Yeah, I was just thinking about…" He paused, trying to organize his words to make them sound less sappy. "See that fountain over there?" he asked as he gestured at the thing beyond them.

Castiel's piercing blue gaze shifted ever so slightly and nodded in affirmation.

"Someone almost drowned in that thing. Which was kinda technically my fault." chuckled Dean, albeit there was barely a shred of humor there.

A part of him questioned why he was doing this in the first place, and another part of him questioned why he was not stopping his little tale. Given the situation they had been pushed into – with the angels and demons constantly on their trail, and the fate of the world possibly resting in their hands yet again – a story from Dean's childhood was not exactly relevant.

"When Sam and I were kids, dad dropped us off here and left us alone for a few days. It was supposed to be the same crap routine." said Dean, jerking his head at the ramshackle building behind them. "Then I – we, uh, met a kid. And for a while, things weren't so crappy." he said as his voice became quieter. Dean sighed and forced a smirk to curl his lips. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this."

An unreadable expression settled itself on Castiel's face. It was not his usual stoicism, but it was more along the lines of him hiding something. There was a difference between a blank sheet of paper and a paper that was folded precisely to obscure any writing that was written. It was weird how Dean could read him; years of fighting and working together had paid off tremendously.

"This 'kid' is of significance to you?" Castiel asked.

He mulled that word over and over in his mind. "Not sure 'significant' is the right word." Dean eventually replied. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with the band-aid that was stuck on his hand. "He just… disappeared one day. Never heard from him again."

There was a pensive hush after that, wherein both Castiel and Dean were deeply immersed in their own thoughts. The wind picked up once more and blew a flurry of dead leaves across the parking lot, and the sight was reminiscent of an empty ballet.

Castiel straightened his bearings and turned toward Dean. "I'm sure he would've wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for your kindness and companionship." he said.

There was a peculiarity in his eyes, and the manner in which the sentence flowed out of his mouth suggested obligation, regret, and perhaps even longing. If it had been someone else listening to him, they would have picked up on nothing save for a deadpan tone. Nonetheless, Dean had no idea why the words were having a profound effect on him, almost like he had been waiting for them for a long time.

"And I'm sure he's forgiven you for cutting his hand." Castiel added.

Without really thinking, Dean nodded. His brow furrowed a moment later when he realized that he had said nothing about cutting anyone's hand. "Wait, how did you – ?"

His words trailed off as his brain struggled to put the pieces together: the muddled fragments of his childhood that took place in the very motel he was standing in, the strange child that had wandered into his and Sam's equally strange lives, the brief friendship that might as well have stood on a bunch of twigs but shimmered as bright and hopeful as a star, the boy's quirks and confusion and instances of sounding too old for his age, Castiel's words…

Dean's eyes suddenly widened and he almost stumbled over his own feet. " _CONNER?_ " he exclaimed.

Castiel smiled and his eyes softened. "Hello, Dean." he said, and for a moment he was speaking as Conner, Dean's childhood friend who had grown up and finally reunited with him. They could pretend the wars never happened; they could pretend they were young again. "Although, I think, we're both aware of my actual name." he added.

In the silence, a conversation between two children echoed soundlessly through the hallway; though the children were long gone and in their place were now battered warriors, the message was carried out as evidently as a comrade's embrace, brimming with sincerity and just enough innocence.

_'Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel.'_

_'Castiel. It's good to finally meet you.'_

Within that fraction of a second, it was like they were back on the rooftop, and the ghost of the words that never had the chance to be uttered were finally released. The restless spirits were at last given their peace and they could move on into the night, into the battle, into the world.

Then, as swiftly as it was formed, the moment vanished when Dean's aversion to chick-flick scenarios resurfaced. "You unbelievable son of a – !"

He meant to let loose a barrage of curses and retorts because – _seriously?_ – Castiel only revealed this information _now? Just now?_ All these years and _just now?_ Dean wanted to scream, to punch Castiel but he knew neither of those would do it (especially the latter). He was still processing all of this, and he was mentally kicking himself for not having had seen the similarities between Castiel and Conner earlier.

With his head about to explode, Dean sought out the remaining bit of sense in this predicament.

" _Sam!_ " he yelled, thundering into the motel room.

Dean caught a glance of Castiel smirking at him in amusement before he went through the threshold. There were still a million questions that needed to be answered, a thousand rants yet to be voiced out, but for now, Dean had his friend back.

He had him back all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Present day' can be, well, whenever you guys want it to be. Since this story is not dependent or too attached to the current season, this chapter can take place at virtually any time (S4-onwards, anyway).
> 
> For those who are curious, the chapter titles are all lines taken from the following songs: 1 – Drops of Jupiter by Train; 2 – Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin; 3 – I am the Highway by Audioslave; 4 – Entertaining Angels by Newsboys; 5 – Little Wing; 6 – Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas; 7 – In the Shadows by The Rasmus; 8 – Drops of Jupiter by Train; 9 – Of Dust and Nations by Thrice; 10 – Anthem of Our Dying Day by Story of the Year; 11 – Angels on the Moon by Thriving Ivory; 12 – Music Box by Thrice; 13 – Whispers in the Dark by Skillet; 14 – Unbroken by Joe Bonamassa; 15 - Love Song by Sara Bareilles; 16 – Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star


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